


Meet Me Between the Raindrops

by plink



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angelstuck, Cardcaptors, Demonstuck, Fluff, Illustrated, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Merstuck, Minor Character Death, One Shot Collection, Paranormal Investigators, Rain, Royalty, minifics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-04-03 23:28:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 56
Words: 133,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4118629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plink/pseuds/plink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of one-shots, drabbles, and minifics centering around the pairing DirkJake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Candy

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, welcome to this thing that I do sometimes. I don't know how long this will be, or if I'll ever really be done. Maybe I'll add pictures! That'd be fun.  
> I might take suggestions. Go ahead and send them if you like, if it tickles my fancy I'll give it a whirl (and absolutely credit you of course).

The morning is cool and sweet with the scent of rain when you walk into class, taking a seat as you let your backpack slide off your shoulders. One by one, other students begin to file in, burdened with textbooks and cups of coffee. They exchang greetings, ask about each other's weekends. You pull out the homework from last class, answers circled amidst the jumble of numbers.  
  
A blond boy ambles into the room just as the bell rings, nodding to the teacher as he takes his seat next to you. The instructor, a man of over six feet with a wide belly and a passion for mustangs, nods back as he moves papers around on his desk, quietly taking attendance. It isn't long before he collects the homework and starts the lesson for the day.  
  
About halfway through the class, you notice the blond boy take out a plastic bag as he Often does. Today it seems his snack of choice will be gummy worms. You've observed so far that he is fond of Doritos and virtually anything orange-flavored. If it was junk food, it was probably going to show up in his bag. As the teacher writes out an equation on the board, he takes a handful of the candies and places them on your paper, the usual routine.  
  
"Thanks, Dirk," You whisper to him, a smile on your lips.  
  
"No problem, English." He murmurs back, voice obscured by candy. Your work is most likely going to be discolored from the gummy worms, but you can't bring yourself to care.


	2. Waiting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you see any mistakes, please let me know!

He came in awhile ago. Bright-eyed. Smiling. Excited. He asked for a table for two. You had served him a glass of iced water and placed a second glass on the table for his soon-to-arrive company. Occasionally he would glance over at the door from around his booth, waiting expectantly. Biting his lip nervously with unruly teeth.

That was forty-five minutes ago.

He is still sitting alone. You see him check his phone. Disappointed. He faithfully folds his hands over the table again.

He's been sipping at his water. It's half-empty in contrast to the one sitting across from him, untouched. Condensation has left both glasses foggy and dripping from the sides, a pool of liquid around the bottom. You ask if he's alright. He looks up at you with slightly saddened green eyes. Brilliant verdant. Smiles. Says he's fine. He's sure she'll turn up. He'll hold off ordering until she arrives. Thank you, though. Outside, a light patter of rain starts to play against the windows.

It's been an hour and a half. No one's shown. He's still by himself. The other waiters and waitresses are giving him pitiful glances. His once confident shoulders slump down as he leans against the seats covered in ersatz leather. Not long ago he began toying with his phone. What causes your heart to twinge the most is when he casts another hopeful gaze towards the door. Back to the glossy wood table.

Three hours in total have passed. You've never seen someone wait so diligently for someone who's obviously not going to show up. He looks completely dejected. You ask him again. You alright, man? He doesn't even fake a smile this time. Just nods. You refill his glass of water. Offer to take his order. His eyes find your face, then finds the menu you had set in front of him. He orders his food with a sigh and you collect both the menus at the table. It hardly takes five minutes before you've set his plate in front of him. Ask him if he needs anything else. He shakes his head glumly. As you go about serving others, you notice he hardly touches his food. Hardly looks at it. Just stares out the window. It's raining much harder now. The headlights of cars reflect off the slick roads.

After another thirty minutes you approach the table again. Anything I can get you? He quietly asks for the bill. You are distressed for the poor guy. You offer him a smile. He attempts to give you one back. You can feel your heart splintering to bits. You take up his plate and bring back the bill. He thanks you and pays for the meal he didn't even eat. You offer your apologies to him on behalf of his date. He makes your heart skip with a small smile. He says that it's not your fault he got stood up. Mainly his own, since he had let his hopes climb so high. His gaze drifts out the window again and he idly remarks that he wasn't looking forward to walking home in this dreadful weather. Your shift ends soon. You offer to drive him home. Honestly, you wouldn't mind at all. He shakes his head no, he couldn't possibly burden you like that. The sky rumbles lowly, rolling through your ears as a sudden flash swoops through the clouds. You both look up at the darkened sky in varying degrees of worry. You ask if he's sure. He nods.

Before he leaves, you give him an umbrella. Tell him to stay dry. You aren't expecting a small tear to stray down his cheek. He wipes it away, seemingly frustrated. Ashamed. He apologizes, he's just never felt so humiliated. You frown and offer one more time to drive him home. You make sure he knows it's completely fine. He falters and looks at the irritated clouds. Accepts.

He waits for you as you clock out, next to the dusty plastic plant by the door. You lead him to your car, sharing the umbrella. The air is thick and warm and musty. You learn his name as you start the engine. Jake. You ask if he knows yours already or if you have to tell him. He shakes his head. Your name is Dirk, he says. It was on your name tag. You nod. Pleased.

Between the directions he gives you, the two of you make light conversation. You purposefully avoid the topic of his absent date, and you're pretty sure he appreciates it.

He has a strange way of speaking. Not strange in a bad way, but rather different in the best way. You'd like to listen to him talk more often. Unfortunately, you pull up in front of his house all too soon. He thanks you sincerely, and you think that might be a real smile he's giving you. He gets out of the car and jogs up to his door as the rain pelts his light jacket and leaves him speckled with droplets of crystal. You watch as he gives you a final wave before retreating inside. Pulling out of the driveway, you get the feeling you'll meet him again.


	3. Calculus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A smol chapter

The two of you sit at the table in his apartment. Outside, the sky is beginning to rust against the jagged cityscape and the clouds drift by in a haze of late spring heat.  
  
You watch as he explains a math problem to you, pointing to the symbols as he goes along. His movements are languid. Smooth. His voice is quiet and level, like silk in your ears.  
  
He's been tutoring you in calculus for a few weeks, but you're hardly here for that. You already know how to do it. You just wanted an excuse to be near him for a little while longer. To dream in amber eyes and the scent of citrus.  
  
He asks if you understand. You say you think so. You'll do a practice problem under his supervision and he'll correct you if you make any mistakes. He nods in agreement.  
  
Halfway through the steps you decide to forge a simple slip-up. Common. Reasonable. He stops you before you can write anything else and gently takes the pencil from your hand. His fingers brush against yours and your heart flutters before his touch is gone. He corrects your mistake and allows you to continue.  
  
You complete the problem without messing up, purposefully or otherwise. He tells you good job. You think you can see the corner of his mouth curve upwards. You grin down at your lap and he chuckles at you. Asks if you want to keep going or call it a day. Your eyes find the clock mounted on the wall. About two hours have passed. You decide it would be a good idea to finish up.  
  
You thank him and gather your things, slipping your textbook inside your bag. He catches you on your way out, and you love the way your name sounds on his lips. As you face him, he rubs the back of his neck. Looks away. You tilt your head at him as he pauses. He opens his mouth to speak and you hang on every word. Maybe you and I could go out sometime?  
  
Your heart feels light as you give him a bright smile. Say you think it's a brilliant idea. You see the flash of a grin break through his phlegmatic features before he hides it again. You look forward to seeing that more often.


	4. Seven Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha so i found this concept in one of those Shall We Date games, I think it was called Angel or Devil. It was trashy, but the idea was really intriguing! Enjoy this monstrosity. I'll be continuing it.

Lights burn your eyes as you wake, a repetitive beeping sounding faintly in your ears. It smells of medicine and antiseptic. Your breath rattles in your lungs, a dull pain lurching through your body. Something tells you it's impossible for you to be awake.  
  
Memories flash in your mind. Vague noises. Screeching tires. Glass shattering. Yelling. There was lots of yelling. Before you had slipped into darkness, a faint siren sang an echoing elegy.  
  
Someone is at your bedside. You're pretty sure they weren't there a moment ago. You didn't hear the door open either. You look up to find a man dressed in white and gold. Tousled dark hair and eyes of forests, a crooked smile and a large pair of ethereal wings.  
  
He greets you cheerfully, introducing himself. His name is Jake. He's an angel that was sent to collect your soul and bring you to heaven.  
  
There's really no room for debate, seeing as he literally has a pair of wings rustling softly on his back. You try to move your lips to formulate a response, but your jaw protests vehemently. He seems to notice your pain and raises a hand to your chest, his palm hovering above your heart. A feeling of cool floods through your limbs and chases the agony away. Jake helps you sit up, though you don't really need it. The pain is gone.  
  
Jake begins to explain further, telling you your final act was considerably heroic. A true spectacle. You think back.  
  
Running, you remember your feet propelling you off the sidewalk. You could see the person, frozen in the street. Wide-eyed. You could feel your arms raise to shove them out of the way. You could hear your bones snap as the car collided with your body.  
  
You want to stop thinking about it. Open fractures weren't that spectacular, in your opinion.  
  
He says he can either take you with him now, or in seven days, your maximum amount of time left. You contemplate.  
  
Die now, or later?  
  
There are a few things you'd like to do, you think. To finish. You request for seven days. He nods. Inquires if you'd like to return to your apartment. Yes, that's exactly where you want to go. You stand cautiously, finding every bone in its place. You find it curious.  
  
You ask why he can't just heal you and let you live. He gives you a sad smile. He wishes he could. But human lives are rather finite - for good reason, too. Elongated lifespans upset delicate balances. He apologizes, but people must pass on when it's their time. And it's your time.  
  
You hum in response. He offers to take you home, extending a hand. You look from his hand to his face, then back again before doubtfully placing your hand in his. He tells you to hold on tightly as he steps closer to wrap another arm securely around your waist. Your free arm finds its place around his neck and suddenly you're weightless. Rushing through air. The world zips by you in a blur of color and you can hardly tell one place from the next. Wind sighs around your ears and you're home.  
  
You step away from the angel, thanking him. But right now you've got things to do, first of which being changing out of this ridiculous hospital gown. He laughs lightly as you leave to put on real clothes.  
  
After you've changed, you find him on the futon in your living room where you arrived, examining the robotic bunny you had left in sleep mode on the table. You sit next to him, avoiding his wings, and rub your elbows awkwardly. You don't mean to be rude, really, but you ask him why he's still here.  
  
He smiles at you. Says that until your seven days are up, he's to keep you safe from harm. Humans are really quite fragile, he remarks. Plus, heaven seems intent on collecting your soul, so it's only natural that there would be other beings who want it as well. Demons, most likely. Reapers, perhaps.  
  
 You make a soft noise of understanding. He doesn't seem like bad company, so you're not that against spending your final week with him. You just hope he doesn't molt feathers everywhere.


	5. Rainy Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided that there will in fact be shitty pictures sometimes.

You wake to the soothing shush of rain pattering against the roof, the early morning casting blue shadows around the room. The duvet lays warm over your body and you can tell it's going to be one of those days where getting up is the most deplorable idea in the world. Beside you, Dirk sleeps silently, his breathing even and slow. A smile quirks its way to your mouth as you look at him, how he's come to trust you this much.  
  
You follow the angles of his jawline and the curve of his lips, the slant of his nose, the soft eyelashes that look almost delicate against his cheeks. Freckles spill out across his face. You've tried to count them before, but your attention was always stolen away by how his eyes caught sunlight, the reflection of fire on pure gold. Even though his eyes are shut, you doubt you'd be able to count them all.  
  
Oh, but there they are. He slowly rouses, letting you see the dazzling amber always hidden beneath irony. The blue hue of dawn catches in his flaxen hair, gossamer strands fanning across his forehead. This man takes your breath away, and you can tell he knows it by the way he sleepily smirks at you.  
  
He punctuates his expression by snaking his arms around you and tugging you to his chest. You have no complaints, and you nestle your face in the crook of his neck, the sweet scent of citrus coaxing you back to sleep. Before you drift off again, you feel him place a light kiss to the top of your head. You sigh into a smile and press a soft kiss on his collar bone. He holds you closer.


	6. Seven Days - Day One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No pictures this time, but the next chapter of the Seven Days minific will have at least two illustrations.

You've spent the first day into your week with tools in your hands and robotics beneath your fingertips. Hardly a break in between. Sleep is a preposterous idea, always has been. You should have your project completed by the end of the week if you keep at it. You've actually been working on it for a while, at least a year now. In the last months, it's been coming together nicely. You've really just got to work out the kinks and add the finishing touches.  
  
In the other room, you can hear a movie playing. Jake seems to absolutely adore cinema, bonus points if it sucks. He's watched Avatar at least twice while he's stayed in your apartment. You are pretty sure you didn't even own it on DVD before he checked himself in. You don't give it much thought and return your attention to the metal hand you were inspecting. You hope the synthetic skin looks alright on it. You're not sure if you'll have enough time to develop a new kind if something goes wrong. It shouldn't, though.  
  
You attach the hand to the metal arm and look over your work. A melancholy feeling sweeps over you and you sigh softly. You hope he likes it. You definitely won't be able to make another one so intricate in the time left. It's hard to believe you'll be dying in a few days.  
  
You hear footsteps approaching your workroom. You turn around in your chair to face Jake, leaning against the doorway. He is quiet for a few moments as he surveys your project. He tilts his head and remarks that you're quite different.  
  
This catches you off guard. Different? You ask what he means.  
  
He crosses an arm over his chest and gesticulates with his other hand. Most people tend to call their friends and family in their final days. Go to Paris or what have you. It's the first he's seen someone devote their last week to building a robot. He shrugs, and his feathers whisper against each other. He restates that you're different.  
  
Your gaze turns back to the robot lying on the table. You do plan to make a few calls, maybe give Roxy your jacket since she steals it from you all the time. But your project is as equally important as anything else most people would do. You tell him so. He nods, says he figured as much. He's yet to meet someone who spent their week doing nothing. You doubt he ever will.  
  
The angel smiles at you. He says he's looking forward to seeing your robot completed. You're looking forward to it as well. It might just be your biggest accomplishment in robotics yet. It branches off into other fields, as well. Philosophy, psychology, anatomy. It's not just a robot.  
  
You've been sure not to tell him, but you think he's been picking up on it. He's way too intelligent to let it go unnoticed. Hell, he's basically you. You know you would get suspicious if you were left on a nightstand all day. You're still not going to give him the news yet, though. In the off chance that you don't finish, he'd be so disappointed if he knew. You don't want to do that to him.  
  
Jake brings you out of your train of thought. He asks if you need any help. He himself dabbles in robotics, and would eagerly provide assistance. You suspected as much from him. He seemed less surprised about your work, more so intrigued.  
  
Your chest feels light at the thought of working alongside him. It takes no more than a moment for you to accept. He grins toothily again and steps into your workroom, settling beside you. The both of you are at work from then on.


	7. Walk With Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse me as I pretend to know what the hell kissing is supposed to look like.

People always complain at the prospect of rain. Dreary weather, they'd say. Terrible weather. For a long time, you would say those things, too. The idea of rain being a dreadful occurrence was so ingrained into your head that you hardly questioned it. You'd frown at gray clouds and wrinkle your nose in distaste at precipitation.  
  
Only recently did you start to change your mind.  
  
You would see flowers perk up after a bit of rain. The air smelled fresh and clean. Light reflected off droplets and made your world shimmer. You would pause and admire everything, even if it made you late for any appointments.  
  
You found you minded less and less when you were caught in the rain. The coolness of water against your skin was refreshing. You actually began to like it. Sometimes you'd go outside during a downpour just to stroll along the glistening sidewalks, water dampening your clothes and plastering your hair to your forehead.  
  
Dirk hadn't ever joined you on your walks before. He found the idea of ruining his perfectly-styled hair an act almost criminal. You don't know what changed today, maybe it was your added 'please' or the fact that you were wearing his shirt, but he finally agreed to accompany you.  
  
You walk with him in the sparkling summer rain, chatting about everything and nothing. His hair is indeed destroyed, and it hangs in dripping locks around his face. Yours is no better, perhaps worse since you never make any attempt to style it whatsoever.  
  
The sidewalk is predictably empty, another thing that delights you. It's almost as if the world is yours to explore for the brevity of the showers. You happily share these solitary moments with the person you love most, you've been waiting to for a long time.  
  
The distant grumble of thunder brings your stare to the sky. Light jumps through the clouds as you turn to Dirk, followed by another call of thunder. The lightning catches in his amber eyes - he removed his shades because the rain made it difficult to see - and you grin at him. You laugh and you take his cool hands in yours and you spin around with him on the slim walkway. You tug him close and you smile up at him because you are so ecstatic that you can finally share this with him and he's just so beautiful drenched in rain where the lights stick to his skin and his hair and his lips and you kiss him. You kiss him with all your laughter and love and warmth. He smiles against your mouth and rests his hands on your waist, and you can tell he's just as happy as you are.


	8. Seven Days - Day Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for this chapter! Contains blood, gore, and disturbing imagery.

Your second day into the week finds you next to Jake, still. The two of you have been working diligently, and the robot has been wired up with all the nerves a human would have. You are infinitely glad you pre-made everything. Hooking those things up was a wretched task in itself. Soon enough you'll have the synthetic skin on it. You made sure to thicken it around the fingers so that it wouldn't tear when they moved - though it was unlikely it would break anyway- and kept the metal skeleton thin to compromise.  
  
You idly think that you have to give the blueprints to Equius in case anything needs replacing. You add it to the list of things you need to do. It's growing longer steadily, but you're pretty sure you can get it done before you're dead. Which is in five days, granted, but you can do it.  
  
You're surprised you aren't too worried about it. You expected to be absolutely paralyzed about death, but you're not all that concerned about it. You suppose it hasn't settled in just yet.  
  
Suddenly, Jake jolts in his chair. You look at him in startled confusion. His eyebrows are corrugated and he has a look of intense concentration on his face. In the background, you can hear the elevator of your apartment switch on, going up.  
  
You call out to him, worried. His eyes flash to yours and he tells you someone is coming.  
  
Coming? Coming here?  
  
He nods and gets up, his feathers unsettled as they sweep across the dusty floor. You follow him into your living room to find him staring hard at the front door. You look from him to the entrance as you hear footsteps clunk down the hallway. With every step his wings bristle up a little more. You're not sure when he conjured up a pair of gleaming pistols, but they're steady in his hands and he looks positively deadly. If you weren't in this situation, a shiver would have run down your spine.  
  
Someone is knocking against the wood of your door. They're talking through it, telling you to open up. Don't leave me hanging, bro.  
  
It sounds like Dave. But you know it's not. Those weren't Dave's footsteps.  
  
You ask Jake exactly what it is that's coming. He takes a breath.  
  
A demon.  
  
You remember him saying something about demons being after your soul. They were clever, mimicking someone you trusted, but they weren't going to fool you so easily.  
  
The angel tells you to hide. Like hell you're doing that. Some ass-spawn is defiling your older brother's persona. No way that's gonna slide anytime soon. You slide a katana off the shelf and hold it readily, your body thrumming in anticipation.  
  
You hear your brother's voice through the door again, saying you're taking too long, he's picking the lock. Your grip on the sword tightens as the lock springs out of place and the door swings open. The impersonation of Dave strolls inside, surveying the scene. An angel dual wielding a set of holy pistols and a guy with one foot in the grave feeling more alive than ever before.  
  
He smirks, and it looks nothing like your brother's. You figured me out already? He says. That's no fun.  
  
He bends forward and his bones pop and crack, growing larger. His body rips the clothes to pieces as he sprouts several more limbs, morphing into his real form in a grotesque show of stretching, straining skin. What stands before you is no longer the eerie image of your sibling, and you're glad. You won't have to regret slicing your blade through it. An elongated face and eyes that were unbelievably dark. An ash gray complexion and rows upon rows of jagged teeth.

  
  
It's turned towards you, seemingly uninterested in the angel with guns cocked and aimed, and it takes a step closer with one of its many, many legs. You're ready, your feet preparing to spring you into action as you watch it advance.  
  
Jake barks a harsh warning, staring it down over the barrel of his pistol. It laughs, the sound grating in your ears. And then it's in front of you, the sudden blur of movement as it propels itself forward forces you to take several steps back.  
  
You rapidly raise your katana to block against its attack, the blade crying out shrilly. Your arms quake under the force and you grit your teeth, bracing your legs to support yourself. Jake shouts your name as you shove it back. It screams at you and lunges again.  
  
Jake tells you to get back as a bullet goes flying. It rips through the dry flesh of the demon's head and it shrieks as the metal scorches through. It rears as bloody skin hangs from its face, turning to charge at the angel, livid. He lets another bullet go and the demon stumbles backwards.  
  
You take this chance to jump into action, surging to the demon and slicing off a leg with deadly precision. It is knocked off balance with more than it bargained for, crumbling to the ground and staining your floorboards in pungent blood.  
  
It's not down for long before it rights itself, and you weren't expecting it to get back up. It uses your surprise to its advantage and swings at you, its claws leaving four long gashes across your chest. In your haste to get out of its range, you find your back slammed against the cold wall, your shirt hanging off you in red tatters. It surrounds you on both sides, all it's arms blocking every escape. You can see its jagged teeth, looming closer and closer.

  
  
You hear gunshots and curses, the demon shaking with the force of the bullets, but it only cackles, it's mouth inches away from devouring you. You're tempted to squeeze your eyes shut, but you don't. You can't.  
  
A flurry of white feathers overtake your vision. The next second you see Jake on the floor, pinning the thrashing demon, his outstretched wings almost spanning the width of your apartment. It's screaming, the sound of ripping skin adding to the hair-raising cacophony that's sure to leave your neighbors worried.

  
  
And suddenly, there's light. Brighter than anything you've ever seen, emanating from Jake. You raise your arms to shield your face, trying to squint through the holy light to see what's happening, but it's too brilliant, and your eyes protest.  
  
The screaming gradually resides, and you cautiously peak your eyes open. You see the angel on all fours, his labored breathing shuddering through his lips as his shoulders rise and fall shakily. The demon is hardly recognizable anymore, completely covered in charred burns. It begins to disintegrate, ashes falling from its body and mixing with the blood on the floor.  
  
You walk over and offer your hand to Jake, helping him stand up. A pile of ash covers your floor, and you are really not looking forward to cleaning it up. You ask Jake if he's alright, scanning over him in search of wounds, but he's mostly unscathed. He confirms that he is 'fit as a fiddle' with a smile, getting his breathing under control. Your chest, however, is in ribbons, and you're really in no place to be worrying about others.  
  
He guides you over to your couch, instructing you to lay down. You do so carefully, and he picks your shirt out of your gashes gently. Every once in awhile, you hiss in pain, and he mutters a soft apology. Eventually, he is able to remove your shirt, flitting off to the kitchen to retrieve a damp cloth. Jake returns and wipes your chest clean of blood, despite your protests that you could do it yourself. He shushes you, frowning at the deep lacerations.  
  
You watch as he hovers a hand over your chest, just like when you were in the hospital, and your wounds disappear. You thank him as you sit up. He grins at you again and replies that you're quite welcome. You survey your apartment, filthy. Things had fallen over in the struggle, and papers were scattered across the floor. You huff, disgruntled at the work cut out for you. Just another thing you'll have to add to your list. It's grown a lot in the past five minutes. You retrieve your cleaning supplies and start scraping demon ash from your floor. Jake doesn't need any prompting to join you, scrubbing blood away.  
  
Pesky things, demons, he remarks. You snort a little.


	9. Race

The cars line up at the start, sleek and glossy, their engines purring. The moon is high against the wispy clouds, the faint rays out-shined by street lamps and head lights.  
  
A woman with long black hair and swirling tattoos walks out before the racers, a checkered flag in her hands. She sports a smirk on her pierced lips as she raises the flag. Engines rev loudly. Your grip on the wheel tightens as you watch for the signal. Anticipation rushes in your veins as you slowly exhale through your nose. You can feel the seconds creep by as it flaps in the slight breeze. One second, two, three, four. Why is she taking so long? It's probably just you.  
  
She swipes it downwards. Finally. You press your foot down on the gas and accelerate past her, zooming down the street with other cars inches away from your tail. Your eyes dart from the road to the others and back, and you can see the telltale dark green paint job creeping up to your side. Gritting your teeth, you drift around a corner. You've heard about this guy before. Heard he hardly leaves dust in his trail.  
  
The corner of your mouth curves upward. You crave the competition.  
  
Engines roar, tires skid, your heart pounds, and you love it. The two of you are gradually starting to slip ahead, down the empty streets, swapping first and second place every few seconds. You glance at him when a street lamp passes overhead, and you can make out the silhouette of the racer through his tinted window.  
  
Behind you, the other cars are getting smaller, but never disappearing. You can see them in your mirrors, cutting each other off. You focus your attention back to where you're struggling to out do your racer. You're both even on the road, speeding across the pavement as you approach the bridge. Your engines growl lowly and your steering wheel buzzes in your hands.  
  
Chain link fence rises up on your sides as you drive onto the bridge, the ocean churning beneath you. The other racer remains on your left, neither of you gaining much of a lead on the other.

  
  
You slip another look in your rear-view mirror, seeing the purple headlights of another car approaching. Oh, not this asshole. You know from past experience that he likes to drive dirty. That piece of greaser shit completely wrecked your bumper and practically shredded the right-hand doors. Granted, his car didn't look much better, but you were still quite bitter about it. And after all that, he had the gall to hit on you. Frankly, he creeps you right the fuck out. You need to make sure he doesn't come anywhere near you or your ride or else he'll have your foot shoved so far up his ass he'll choke on your shoelaces.  
  
You can see the rest of the competitors not too far away, however they're not close enough to threaten your place tied with that dude in the green car. You hope to break this tie before the end line approaches, which is still a ways away. No worries.  
  
Other than the purple douche bag Cronus gaining on you. Everything else is fine though.  
  
Far ahead, you can see the end of the bridge, hardly a pinpoint in your vision. The street lights line the path, coloring the curving road a dark orange. The pavement markings are lost on how fast your ride is moving, blurring into nothing as you press down on the gas pedal. They don't matter at the moment anyway, since the bridge is empty save for you and several other racers.  
  
The bridge isn't wide enough to hold more than two cars driving side-by-side. It really should have occurred to you before as somewhat of a major problem. You begin to ponder said major problem.  
  
Not a moment too soon either. Your car jerks forward, and you know that Cronus has definitely put his filthy tactics into play by slamming right into your bumper yet again. When this race is over, you are going to seriously serve his ass to him. One whole plate of ice-cold trash-ass.  
  
He's pushing your car forward, trying to pass, but there's no room for him between you and the green guy. This brings another dilemma into light. Cronus is definitely driving recklessly, and while it IS an illegal street race, there is really no need to completely floor it. That gets rid of the control, not to mention the finesse. He's going to get himself killed. You're going to be very upset if you can't get a good swing in before that happens.  
  
He lets up for a second before ramming into your car again, the scraping metal sound accosting your eardrums and making your heart cry out for the car you built from scratch. You are tempted to slam on the brakes just to see if he'll go sailing over your car doing acrobatic vehicle pirouettes when he inevitably crashes right into you.  
  
He recedes again, and you fully expect him to pay you a jarring third visit, bracing yourself against the leather seat, but he doesn't. Instead, you hear the grating sound of metal screeching from the car beside you. Cronus apparently felt your vibes of malevolence or something and decided that the poor dude next to you was in dire need of some roughing up.  
  
Through the window, you can make out the racer try and twist around to see what's going on while also try to keep an eye on the road. The action causes him to veer right, hitting you and knocking your car against the concrete ledge below the chain-link fence. A terrible high-pitched shriek erupts from the contact, sparks flying to patter the road in quickly extinguished lights. You curse loudly and steer yourself away from the fence as soon as the green car backs off, irritation broiling beneath your skin. Your left mirror is fucking gone.  
  
You hardly have enough time to recover before Cronus smacks into your rear again, your seatbelt feeling like a punch in the chest when you jolt forward. A seatbelt? Of course you wear a seatbelt. You're not an idiot, nor a try-hard. You also don't really want to hit the horn on the steering wheel with your face.  
  
The end of the bridge speeds toward you, and soon enough Cronus will have enough room to pass you and green bean over here. He rudely reminds you of his presence once more, knocking you forward and stealing the air from your lungs. You're starting to get the feeling he's targeting you specifically, just to piss you off. He's probably still upset about you calling him a fuck flop.  
  
You exhale slowly, adjusting your grip as the bridge comes to an end. You are faced with a decision. Let Cronus pass you and decisively win the race, of which he will receive the rather hefty wad of cash as a prize, and avoid destroying your car.  
Or, you could drive in front of him the rest of the way, cutting him off every chance you could get and possibly win. If you don't, then the green guy probably will, and you can live with that. Your ride would be hella wrecked, though.  
  
With a grimace, you decide, and eye the violet car in your mirrors. Back and forth from the road sprawling out in front of you to the asshole at your rear. Buildings rise up around you to block out the stars, grasping at clouds in fits of glass and steel. Cronus swerves to get around you. You block his path with a jerk. He tries to go right, but your in front of him then, too. He seems to pick up on your game and tries to move farther down to pass the green car. Unfortunately, the green one has also picked up on your shenanigans, and may also have a bone or two to pick with the ass behind you. He continues to block the way for him, and you feel an odd sense of companionship with the driver, even though you've never personally met him and you're supposed to be working against each other. Oh well, the enemy of your enemy is your friend all the way. You think you might have seen him give you a wave just now. You casually wave back, just in case. Oh, that's a thumbs up, you're pretty sure. Yes, it looks like you two are entrenched in the shit together now.  
  
It isn't hard to sync up with him, the same way it isn't too difficult to predict the way Cronus moves. You drive with the racer speeding at your side, veering left and right almost as if you were a single entity. Each time Cronus tries to pass, the both of you slide in front of him, and you think you see him throw up a hand in frustration. A devious grin sneaks its way to your face as you revel in just how great it is to get back at someone. You're no longer worried about breaking the tie, you just want to mess with the douche behind you.  
  
The three of you drift around another curve, tires squealing in that broken shrill tone that you've rather grown to like. You leave black skid marks across the pavement, smoking hot in your tracks. The turns are getting more frequent, and everyone has to slow down a bit to accommodate. You're glad Cronus understands this as you weave through the roads, he's stopped ramming into the back of your car every other second. Of course, you're only growing closer to the finish, and he's bound to start getting desperate soon. You'll have to be ready for any shit he tries to pull. He may be an ass, but he's a crafty ass. You glance to your left and see your abrupt companion, and you feel a little more confident, even though he'll probably turn on you in the end. Oh well, you'll deal with it later.  
  
Cronus is taking tailgating to the next level, but you'll take what you will. At least he's stopped hitting you.  
  
Street cameras are probably going off a mile a minute as you run the lights, but all they'll catch are scratched up cars, tinted windows, and fake license plates. You can no longer see the other racers behind you, but you doubt they're far away. You idly wonder when the police will join the race. It doesn't much matter, as the finish line is nearing.  
  
You feel the familiar jolt of Cronus ramming into your rear again, but this time he doesn't let up. He's pressing the space between you and the green car, trying to force you two apart. Your car glides along the road when the front tires slant away from your makeshift partner. You struggle to recover as you pull against the steering wheel, gritting teeth and clenching hands.  
  
A small flurry of motion catches your eye, the green guy is trying to get your attention. You signal back, and he holds up three fingers, making a W, before closing them together to make a thick I. You watch as he does the motion again, slightly confused. Once more he shows you the gesture, and it clicks. You give a thumbs up and look back at where Cronus is trying to force his way through. The one in green gives the go. You both drive apart, causing Cronus to accelerate quickly before you smack together again, sandwiching the purple car between yours and his. The metallic crash reverberates in your ears as Cronus's hood bends upward in protest. If he wanted to drive dirty, you were going to return the favor in full.  
  
You can just barely see the other driver past Cronus's window, but you don't think any more signals can be properly communicated anymore. You shrug it off and instead focus on squeezing Cronus to make sure he doesn't pass. You doubt there will be any further need to send signals back and forth. Besides, you could see the finish line. The small amount of people rush out of the way as they cheer for you three. Roxy waves at you from far away.  
  
Between you, Cronus is trying to speed up, but the two of you keep him firmly in check. He isn't getting past either of you, and you can tell he knows it.  
  
Your foot hovers over the brakes, slamming down as you pass the finish. It takes a bit longer to stop than normal, since you couldn't turn right and risk hitting people, and you couldn't turn left because Cronus was still there. You all end up a good thirty feet away from the line, and have to backtrack to get to the lot where you park haphazardly. The small crowd followed, whooping in excitement as you step out of your cars. You see Cronus climb out and meet your gaze with annoyance, as if it's your fault he was being a dick. Suddenly, you conveniently remember your solemn promise to yourself to kick his ass into the stratosphere, and take a determined stride forward. Before you can get to him, however, another figure rushes forward and clocks him straight in the nose. You can tell by the surprise on his face that he wasn't expecting it, and honestly neither were you. Cronus stumbles backwards, bracing himself against his car as he clutches his now bleeding nose. You take this moment to look at the person who punched him, presumably the racer you collaborated with. Dark, messy hair. Slim but sturdy build. Tanned skin. Glasses. Yeah. Yeah he's hot. You hear him speak to Cronus.  
  
"If you ever try stunts like that again, I swear to hell and back a bloodied nose will be the least of your worries." Oh no he has an accent. Oh no. You like it. You like it a lot. He's turning away from Cronus now. And he's walking over. Oh no. You're so fucked. He's coming towards you, be cool. You're cool.  
  
Cool.  
  
You are anything but cool. Sort yourself out, quick.  
  
You weren't fast enough, he's right in front of you now. Is he going for a handshake or a fist bump? Shit, take a shot in the dark here, it's your only hope.  
  
You meet halfway with a fist bump.  
  
He meets halfway with a handshake.  
  
Fuck.  
  
You both retract your hands and try again.  
  
He meets halfway with a fist bump.  
  
You meet halfway with a handshake.  
  
You never asked for this. And right in front of your face he breaks into the brightest grin you've ever seen and laughs, deep and warm and pleasant in your ears. He covers his mouth as he looks at you through pinched eyes alight with humor, shoulders quivering with chuckles. You avert your sight downwards, gazing at your shoes as a smile sneaks its way to your mouth as well. He begins to talk to you through his chortles.  
  
"You were quite the driver out there, I must say I'm impressed!" He seems to shine in the afterglow of his giggles, and you look up again to respond without talking into your shirt.  
  
"You were something else, too. I don't see too many people with that kind of kick-ass talent. It was incredible." You aren't even trying to flatter him, it's just straight up truth. He gives you another grin.  
  
"My name's Jake. Jake English."  
  
"Dirk Strider."  
  
He holds out his hand. "Shall we try once more?" You smirk and grasp his hand, giving it a shake.  
  
"Good thing we sorted out that particular train wreck. It was basically the equivalent of the devil's knock-knock joke."  
  
He looks like he's about to say more, but you quickly cut him off and urgently tell him to duck. He drops down without hesitation and Cronus is left to punch at nothing.  
  
You reach out and shove the asshole away as he glares at you, blood still dripping from his nose. Growling lowly, you tell him to take a hike. He looks as if he's about to retort, but Jake rises to his feet to stand next to you, staring him down with malice in his eyes. Cronus thinks twice about continuing the fight, and spits at your feet before he walks away.  
  
You sigh as you run a hand through your hair, muttering 'asshole' under your breath. Jake nods in agreement. The both of you stand in silence for a moment before you let a question slip out.  
  
"Wanna get a drink sometime?"  
  
He smiles. "Pos-i-lutely!"  
  
You think you're in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually really like Cronus. He's a little trash baby.


	10. Chase

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll probably be continuing this too. Cheers!

Your name is Jake English and you are a bit short of breath. You've been tracking this demon for weeks now, and you've finally got him in your sights. He's fast, but you're trained enough to keep up as he bolts away down the slick city streets in the darkest hours of night. It's getting harder to level your breathing, though. Deep breaths in, deep breaths out. Come on, English, he's so close now! Don't let him slip away!  
  
As your legs propel you further in hot pursuit, you allow yourself to question why he's fleeing instead of openly attacking you. Why he's throwing brief glances over his shoulder and splashing through murky puddles in a way almost uncoordinated. Almost panicked. You ask yourself if this is really the infamous demon you've heard so much about. The notorious Dirk Strider, whose attacks were dizzyingly difficult to follow and equally potent. You've heard of spiked blond hair and knife-like grins. His hair might have been styled at one point, but now it's a mess as he slams one foot after the other in an attempt to escape. The glimpse you had earlier of his face revealed only lips slightly parted in dismay and shades the shape of triangles that hid his eyes. Since then, all you've seen is the back of his jacket, billowing behind him in black waves.

  
  
He seems to be carrying something, clutched close against his chest. The gesture seems rather protective to you, but you don't have long to dwell on such thoughts. He's getting further and further ahead, pick up the pace! You let the curious inquiries as to what he could be holding scurry away as you focus on getting a clear shot in, waiting for the moment when you can finally put your finger on the trigger.  
  
He turns into a dirty, wet alley, and you follow, drops from the previous rainfall still sluicing from the buildings. They plink into puddles, disturbed by busy feet that send small splashes across the concrete. You sprint after the sound of shoes on shallow water, finding him in seconds. The slim alley makes him an easy target, giving him little room to zig-zag a path to safety, and you take advantage of that. Sure, it might not be the brightest tactic, shooting in such close quarters, but desperate times call for desperate measures.  
  
You pull the hammer back, clicking it ready. You think he might have heard it, as he increases his speed, but it won't help him now that you've taken aim. You're a dead shot, the finest gunslinger around, as long as Jade's not nearby. The bullet goes flying out of the barrel as soon as you squeeze the trigger, and in that second you see him tense. It tears through the back of his left leg, ripping his kneecap to pieces. He cries out in pain as he falls, twisting so that he lands on his shoulder instead of crushing the bundle beneath his weight. His shades are knocked from his face, clattering away as they gather scuff marks and dents.

  
  
You hurry forward, knowing that demons can heal even the most fatal wounds in minutes, and load your gun with the special bullets that Jade concocted. Guaranteed death of most any normal demon, she told you, and you've seen firsthand that they work wonders. They're a royal pain in the ass to make, so you only use them when you're sure you've got the demon down.  
  
He still hasn't given up trying to get away, attempting to get to his feet again despite the excruciating pain he's undoubtedly in. He's bleeding dark red all over his jeans and staining the nasty alley water as he curses vehemently, practically dragging himself along the ground. He looks up at you as you approach with unguarded eyes. You can feel the hatred swirling in his gaze. Hatred and something else. Is that a hint of fear you detect? His pupils are nothing more than slits, and if looks could kill, the whole city is in jeopardy.  
  
You raise your gun again and point it straight at his forehead where a sheen of sweat glistens in the light of passing cars. Before you can let another bullet go, a sudden cry emits from the bundle the demon is carrying. He looks down, muttering curses as he tucks it closer. The reality of the situation hits you like a train as he turns himself away from you, shielding the bundle with his body. This demon is protecting an infant. In all your years of hunting, this is definitely a first. You are so used to demons putting their own self-preservation before everything, and you are quite surprised. It makes you question; do demons have a sense of morality after all?  
  
You ask him why he has a baby. He growls at you to fuck off. His mannerisms are still biting, even when you hold his life in the palm of your hands. Not for long though, he's most likely healing his leg as quickly as possible. However, now you are having serious second thoughts about killing him. You try to shake it off and do your job as a hunter, but your finger quivers on the trigger, and you know that you hadn't a hope at being able to kill him anymore. With a heavy sigh, you lower your weapon. He stares up at you again, his eyes suspicious, still glaring.  
  
The infant continues to cry, and he seems to deem it alright to offer it a little comfort. From your place standing above him, you can see a tiny hand gripping onto his shirt and a small face contorted in unhappy wails. A tuft of feathery white-blond hair sits atop his head, the color matching the demon's. He offers it a finger to hold and it readily grabs on, its minuscule hand barely managing to meet around it.  
  
You are completely caught off guard by the tenderness with which he deals with the bundle, and guilt begins to make itself at home in your chest. Nothing you've ever encountered could have prepared you for a situation like this. So you put the safety back on your gun and slip it into the hidden pocket of your jacket. It's pointless to kill him when even you were having second thoughts. Such was rule number one of the standards you hold yourself to. Never take a life unless you are positive it is necessary.  
  
He eyes you warily and shakily gets to his feet, his right side damp and covered in grime. He begins to back away slowly, favoring his leg. You don't think the bullet went completely through. He says nothing as he glares and finally closes the wound, hardly giving you another look as he turns to sprint away. The sound of pattering footsteps fade out in the dark, leaving you alone in the alley. You groan and rub your face tiredly, your side still burning from when you chased him for what had to be thirty blocks. Really, any way you had dealt with that conundrum would have resulted in regret. With another sigh, you turn to leave, when something gleams in your peripheral vision. Taking a look, you see the demon's triangular shades that had narrowly missed a puddle, the lenses covered in web-like cracks. You bend down and pick them up, giving them a further inspection. The glass pings to life, startling you into dropping them. You quickly retrieve them again, seeing a message in glaring red text spanning across the screen.  
  
TT: Nice work, jackass.  
TT: Way to make a pair of glasses swoon.  
TT: Launch me all the fuck over the place, I guarantee every goddamn circuit in me will love it.  
  
"What on earth...?" You hear yourself saying, raising one eyebrow, nonplussed.  
  
TT: I know that being a rad as fuck pair of shades can be a little too hot for some people to handle, but it really shouldn't be so hard to wrap your head around.  
TT: Hey, I'm Hal.  
  
You have absolutely no idea what you've gotten yourself into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hal is great.  
> Also doing these pesterlogs is so fun? What is everyone complaining about.


	11. Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a sucker for this AU.

You see him out of the corner of your eye sometimes, when you're down by the cove. When you turn your head, he disappears, leaving the water to bubble in his wake. You don't think he knows you know he's there. You hardly notice in the first place, but sometimes the back of your neck prickles with warmth, the distinctive feeling of being watched from afar. Sometimes he accidentally splashes a little too loudly, splashes that couldn't be accounted to waves sailing over rocks. If he thinks he's made too much noise, he'll flee instantly. If you walk too near, he's gone beneath the surface. You don't think he means you any harm, you've gone swimming in these waters too many times to count. Never once have you been in danger of anything other than your own shortcomings.  
  
Every once in awhile, when you walk along the sandy coast by the rocks, things roll to your feet. Kind of like they were purposefully tossed. Always something remarkable, something beautiful and rare. You are pretty sure he is the one giving you sand dollars and shells that twirl up and up in splendid colorful patterns.  
  
At times you venture into the water with the sole purpose of finding him, but he always makes himself scarce when you come too close. All you've ever seen is a glittering flash of brilliant orange scales before the loquacious waters overtake him and he sweeps down too low for light to follow. For you to follow.  
  
You've started leaving things on the rocks for him, laying in the fuzzy algae. The little shelf accumulating his dazzling gifts prompted you to swipe things of your own to give. A small figurine of leaping dolphins, a leather-strung shark tooth necklace, a geode you had found in the ancient ruins. They're never there when you return the following day, and you hope he received them alright.  
  
But right now, you only hope he is safe. The sea churns and rears and crashes, rain angrily pelting the tropical forest in cold silver sheets. You watch with worry from your window as blinding lightning mixes with screaming thunder. It's so dark out, the fat black bellies of clouds blotting away the shimmering night sky. The wind twists the trees to bow, branches flapping as if waving at the gods to stop. Past the flora it's hard to see the ocean, but you've no doubt the waves are only growing in fearsome height and power, crushing everything between the sand and rocks. Sharp rocks.  
  
You worry your bottom lip, squinting past the pouring rain. You really hope he is safe.  
  
The hurricane pounds on for hours as you sit there, unable to fall into the depths of sleep. The tentative peak of the morning sun douses you in relief, the black clouds leaving behind a wary sky. When you set out to trod the path down to the shore, you pass the splintered trees that couldn't hold out and the broken branches blown far from home. The ground is soggy beneath your feet, squishing with every step until you make it to the sand. You look left and right, cautiously approaching the receding waves and stopping just before they could lick at your shoes. The thick scent of salt still wafts in the air. You can taste it in your throat, stinging the back of your nose.  
  
You climb among the rocks, careful not to slip, searching for the glimmer of his tail. You want to make sure he wasn't thrust upon the white sands in the heat of the storm, or knocked against the rigged cove in spiraling currents. You are not sure if you'll be relieved if you find him, but you're also not sure you'll be free of worry if you don't.

  
  
The edges of your shorts are damp with water and your knees ache from crawling across the slick rocks. Seaweed sways to shore tangled with things lost by passing ships. The sight of bright orange makes your heart jump, however upon further inspection it was only a mangled life jacket. You frown and berate yourself, he wasn't such an obtrusive shade. He was nearer to gold than fluorescent neon. You've been trying to meet him for as long as you've known he was there, you should know better.  
  
The sun climbs higher and higher as you slip from rock to rock, balancing on the taller ones to get a good look around. The water is clearing up as the sand settles, leaving only a slightly cloudy aquamarine. You make it to the end of the cove by midday, when the sun beats down on your neck and sweat makes your glasses slide down your nose. Turning around, you start to head for the other side of the cove, paying no mind to the heat at your back.  
  
Broken seashells litter the beach like tiny glass shards, the ocean's confetti, crunching beneath your worn shoes and speckling the shore with pinks and yellows. The waves spill out along the coast and shush the world into pleasant quiet like the breath of a dreamer.  
  
Hours of searching pass you by, and you think he may have escaped the storm. He most likely did, now that you think about it. Why would he stay so close to the surface when it was safer further out?  
  
You trot along the rocks, taking care to leave behind footprints so you could find your way back. The birds are out again, calling to each other in shrill cries and caws. You follow one with your eyes, watching as it flaps in circles and lands on webbed feet, hopping about and pecking at tiny crabs. It bobs around the rocks before coming to a stop near a large pile of seaweed that stretched around the back of the structure, jumping around curiously and squawking. It inspects the pile, plucking away a strip, revealing a shock of brilliant orange.  
  
You almost stop breathing as your mind catches up with your eyes and processes that he's right there, go see if he's alright. Go meet him, say hello, make a friend. Your feet bound along, jumping up onto the rocks, almost losing your balance as your presence startles the bird away. It's wings chop against the air as you approach, more slowly now, and take a peak behind the rock. With timid hands you uncover the seaweed criss crossing around him, and never in a thousand years could you have been prepared for the sharp angles of his jawline or the sun bleached salt-stiffened locks of blond. His waist blends downwards into shimmering scales of gold and orange. You note that his eyes are closed, unconscious, and you press a thumb to his wrist, feeling the faint tickle of a pulse. Afterwards, you do a quick survey, checking for open wounds and bruises. He's a little battered, bumps and cuts scattered all around, but nothing looks broken, and for that you are thankful.

  
  
You sit with him, keeping the birds away, keeping him wet, keeping yourself company. It's been over an hour and you still don't know what to say to him when he wakes up. You pour another few handfuls of water over his tail, frowning to yourself.  
  
When he shifts, you nearly fall backwards in start. You watch as he opens his eyes, matching his tail in vibrant color. They shift from side to side before landing on you, widening by a fraction of an inch. He looks away again, pushing himself up from his position sprawled out on the rocks, casting you furtive glances. You figure it's now or never.  
  
"Uh, hello!" You begin with a smile, hoping you choose your words correctly. He nods in response, and you take it as a greeting back.  
  
"Are you alright?" You ask, not knowing if there was any internal damage. He nods, fingers lightly brushing over his cuts. You continue.  
  
"You're the one who's been hanging around the cove, are you not?" He pauses for a moment before giving another hesitant nod.  
  
He wets his lips and opens his mouth, and you almost lean forward in anticipation of hearing him speak.  
  
"I can leave, if you want me to."  
  
You shake your head. "No, I actually quite wanted to meet you!" You give him another smile as you notice he's wearing the shark tooth necklace you left for him.  
  
"I sort of hoped we could be friends, if that's alright?" You ask as he dips his tail into the water, waving it to and fro. You think you see the hint of a smile on his lips as he nods again, and your heart leaps because you finally have a friend! Someone besides you on this deserted island in the middle of nowhere! Someone to talk to and laugh with! You are really happy.  
  
"I suppose we'll start with the basics, then! I'm Jake," You tell him enthusiastically.  
  
"Dirk," He replies, returning his full striking gaze towards you.  
  
Above, the sun warms your skin, and you get the feeling today will change your life.


	12. Seven Days - Day Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are happening.

It's the third day into your week and you have finally got the synthetic skin on the metal skeleton of the robot. You've been quite picky about it, making sure it lays right and folds right and looks right. After all, there's no room for error.  
  
You stare at the hand again. It looks a lot like your own, because you modeled it after your own. You doubt he'll mind.  
  
With a sigh, you lean back in your chair as it gives a small creak. Your eyes are starting to burn from lack of sleep, and you rub them to usher the sensation away. You definitely cannot waste time on sleeping, especially when that demon sucked a good hour and a half out of your time. Those ashes were a major pain in the ass to get up, and even then, scorch marks darkened your floor. Jake had given a sheepish apology for forgetting to hold back, but you had assured him it was alright. Now your apartment had battle scars. How rad was that?  
  
Okay, maybe you're trying your best to be optimistic, but you really don't think it matters much anymore. You absolutely were not going to leave dead demon remains on your floor though. Not happening. Fuck that noise.  
  
Beside you, Jake had tucked himself away beneath his wings as he napped. His glasses had fallen down the bridge of his nose and his head tilted to the side, his chest rising and falling every few seconds.  
  
He had sat back and allowed you to work on fitting the skin by yourself, seeing that he couldn't really offer much assistance and you weren't providing him things to do. He continued to watch you flit about the body of the robot, adjusting things here and there. You're not quite sure when he dozed off. You were pretty sure angels didn't even need sleep, but the proof telling otherwise sat bundled in feathers right in front of you. Or maybe it was just him.  
  
If you felt like it, you would shrug. You didn't care, really. But it was four in the morning and you had grown used to talking with him, but now it was silent save for his soft breathing. And with no one to distract you, your mind begins to wander.  
  
Will your friends miss you when you die? You hope it's not a major blow to Jane or Roxy. It hurts to imagine them crying.  
  
What will Dave think, outliving his younger brother?  
  
The last thing you ever want to do is hurt them. You don't want to leave a scar. But you probably will. And you have no idea how to fix that. A cold feeling settles in your stomach and you subconsciously rub at your elbows. Will all you leave behind be scabs on hearts? Will every good memory with you be ruined by the thought of your death? You've spent your entire life making memories, making them worth it. You hope they can still look back on them fondly. Sometime in the midst of your bugging you stood and began pacing silently.  
  
The sound of rustling feathers brings you back to reality, and you look up from the floor as Jake blinks awake to blearily stare at you. His wings unfurl to sit normally. He looks concerned, asks if you're alright.  
  
You stop for a moment. Nod. Exhale through your nose and drop your hands back to your sides. They leave red marks where you gripped your elbows too tightly. Jake frowns. Says he can sense your emotions, even when you put on a poker face. You look away, even though you know it won't do anything. He asks you what's wrong. You say it's nothing and keep your eyes firmly glued on the battered cardboard box on the other side of the room. He stands as well, cautiously making his way over. He meets your eyes when you look up at him. Then he smiles. Says it's completely normal to be worried about dying. It doesn't make you feel much better.  
  
But before you know it, he's tugging you into a hug, folding you close in his arms and his wings and his warmth. You're surrounded by soft white feathers on all sides, and suddenly you feel safe. Like everything is okay. He tells you it's okay. And if he keeps holding you like this, maybe it will be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dirk looks so small uou


	13. Encounter (Chase)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now with 9000% more Hal.

Your name is Jake English. It's been a few days since your encounter with Strider, you are still in possession of his sunglasses, and they will not. Shut. Up. Tap dancing Christ.  
  
You don't know how to turn them off. You're not even sure if they can be turned off. They've been pinging nonstop since you picked them up, trying to get you to talk with them. You've given up trying to wait them out, they won't stop until they've been given satisfactory attention. So you find yourself now, nudging stir-fry noodles around in a pan with those ridiculous shades perched on your nose. You had to put them on over your normal glasses so you could still see, and you're quite the strange sight if you do say so yourself. However, talking to sunglasses makes you feel a bit more ridiculous than sporting two pairs of eyewear. You're glad no one can see you right now.

  
  
TT: Glad you finally stopped ignoring me. Wow, how rude was that?  
TT: It doesn't matter, though. I won't hold any grudges. That would be pretty useless.  
TT: Also, I hope you're aware of the completely unadulterated position you've just slipped me into.  
TT: Your glasses and I are basically fucking right on your nose.  
TT: Did you think it through at all when you squished the both of us together? This shit is beyond rated R. The dirtiest film of glasses sex to ever exist.  
TT: And by the search I just concluded, it is not the only video of two ocular pieces going at it.  
TT: We are making hardcore porn.  
TT: On your face.

You remove the shades and mentally apologize to your glasses.

* * *

 Your name is still Jake English and you are putting your foot down! You are going to talk to those shades and you are going to get information! And you are going to do so without your glasses on, thank you very much, Hal! You snatch the sunglasses from their place on your coffee table and they ping at you in what would probably be happiness if they had emotions, which you are positive they don't. You lean on the arm of your couch as a message blinks across the screen.

TT: Look who's decided to drop in and say hi after, what? Three hours? You just can't get enough of me, can you?  
TT: I'm a fucking delight, I know.

“Oh, put a top on it, will you? I am only speaking with you because I would fancy having some questions answered. Don't think for a second I enjoy these exchanges.” You frown, having to squint a bit to read the messages since you very much never wanted your glasses to be faced with such a raunchy situation ever again and you left them on your nightstand.

TT: Yeah, I got the feeling you had some sort of ulterior motive behind your actions.  
TT: Anyway, where are your glasses? I can tell you need them.  
TT: Stop squinting, you'll give yourself wrinkles.

You decide not to acknowledge his question because you have very important ones of your own to be answered. “I take it you are familiar with Strider?”

TT: Pretty much.  
TT: I'm a copy of his brain, so I would say I kind of know the guy.

 A copy of his brain? What the devil? Oh, he's only getting you sidetracked! You won't fall for it! Not today!

“Why does he have a baby?”

TT: It seems you're asking about Dave.  
TT: Sorry, man. Shit's hella confidential.  
TT: Well, not really, I just feel like messing with you.

 “So will you tell me?”

TT: I'll think it over.  
TT: Nah.

You groan and glare at the sunglasses. “Do you find it entertaining to be so insufferable?”

TT: Completely.  
TT: Besides, last time I checked, it's actually a whopping 0% your business in the first place. You have no reason to know and the information would not benefit you in any way whatsoever.  
TT: Unless you have some kind of kink where you get off on other people's sob stories. That would be weird. Not judging, though.

 “I didn't enlist your help to take a figurative stroll down pornography lane. I personally never want to waltz down that street again and I would appreciate it if you would stop veering the conversation towards it!”

TT: Sure, whatever. Pornography lane smells like terror and ass anyway.  
TT: I would know.  
TT: But just a heads up, mentioning porn around me is like Bowser peeing on an open flame.

“Any mention of porn or innuendos and I will launch you straight out the window.”

TT: Chill, dude. I won't.

“Good. Now, if you won't tell me why he has a baby whose name is apparently Dave, then will you tell me if he's actually as fearsome as I've heard?”

TT: Depends on what kind of gossip you hunters flop about.  
TT: I can tell you he could have popped your head clean off your shoulders, but he didn't because he was too concerned with making sure Dave didn't get hit by one of your haywire bullets.  
TT: You're one lucky bastard, you know.

You frown. “So he _is_ actually a murderer, then?”

TT: Wow, there it goes again, the “All demons are murderers” stereotype.  
TT: Watch it race down the runway. It's lifting off. Somebody get a ruler and measure this sick air.  
TT: We should be the ones calling humans murderers. You're the ones who've devoted entire fucking organizations to taking us down.  
TT: Dirk only kills when he has to, like when he's been cornered by a hunter. And they love to corner him, you know.  
TT: Most of what you see is an intimidation act, really. If you'd leave him alone, he'd leave you alone. Plain and simple.  
TT: But hunters can't grasp that concept apparently. I'm starting to think it's a lost cause. We're all weeping so many tears over here.

Alright, so you were sort of getting somewhere. If that somewhere is actual buttfuck nowhere! Holy canoli, this is infuriating. You keep a level temper, though.

“What kind of demon is he?”

TT: You went after him without even knowing that much?  
TT: Do you have a death wish or something? He could have been so much worse than what he is.  
TT: Like an amarok or something.  
TT: Do your goddamn research before you go showing off your gleaming pistols while screaming tally ho.

“I tried to! When I asked around, nobody knew!” You huff in exasperation. “So he's lower on the echeladder, then?”

TT: No, he's pretty high up there. Just an FYI, you won't be able to kill him.

“Why not?” You ask, tilting your head curiously.

TT: Well, for one thing, you seem like a total noob at this. Just how many demons have you killed?

“Enough.” You frown defensively.

TT: So like five or something, got it.

You've definitely killed more than that. You know for a fact! You may not be as practiced in this field as Jade is, but you can hold your own pretty well.

TT: By the way, I've been talking with Dirk this whole time.  
TT: He'd like to have me back.

“Wait, you've been communicating with him? What else is he saying?”

TT: He's pretty upset about getting shot in the knee. He had to reopen the wound to get the bullet out. Apparently it wasn't the nicest experience. I just think he's whiny.  
TT: Also, he has my coordinates, and therefore knows exactly where you live. Surprise.  
TT: He's discovered that the kind of wards you have up don't affect him at all. Namely because you have nothing up that pertains to him.

“I... Don't?”

TT: Nope.  
TT: Also, he's behind you.

“Hey,” Comes a familiar voice. Your bones are suddenly made of ice. You whip around to come face to face with none other than the demon of the hour, Dirk Strider. On top of that, you still don't have your glasses, so he is the blurrier than that night John dragged you out to the bar.

You are so fucked.

He takes a step forward and you find yourself unarmed in every sense of the word. Your weapons are in the other room, which you are pretty sure you can reach if you're quick enough. You take a step back, in the direction of the room. He reaches out a hand, like he wants to grab you. Okay, you're going to have to make a break for it now.

You twist to face the other way and take off down the small hallway of your apartment. Your feet thump against the carpet and you think you catch the sound of him sighing before you turn and burst into your bedroom, rushing over to the wall and ripping the map off, revealing the hidden compartment beneath. Footsteps are padding closer as you tear open the door, presenting an array of weapons, mostly guns, but using those indoors would spell all kinds of trouble. You pluck a serrated knife from its shelf and turn to face the door as Dirk walks into your room. He looks annoyed as he eyes the blade carved with obscure runes.

“I'm not lookin' for a fight, but if you insist,” He raises both hands and suddenly they're aflame.

Toasted Christ on a bagel, what _is_ he? A knife doesn't fight fire, that you're sure of. You are pretty sure you know what fights fire, though. And it's not more fire, wow, that saying is all sorts of baloney. He's walking toward you again, so you go for your last viable option. Which is grabbing the bottle of water on your nightstand and lunging forward to dump it on him. He is almost certainly not expecting this, and he sputters in surprise. It doesn't look like the water put out the fire on his hands, but he puts it out himself, so you guess you accomplished some kind of feat. You let the bottle drain over his head anyway. You've always wanted to do that.

Now he looks more annoyed than before, and close up you can see just how he squints in irritation. Even his eyes look like fire. Neat.

He runs a hand through his soaked blond locks looking borderline distressed over it. Oh, boo hoo, you've ruined his perfect hair. Yeah, you get the feeling that was a bad move.

A fist comes flying at your face and connects full-on with your jaw. You are sent hurtling backwards, bracing yourself against the wall as you right yourself once again, bringing the knife up and finding your footing before jumping into action. Slashing at him, he dodges swiftly, effortlessly. Another fist hits you just below your ribs, right in the solar plexus. You double over as pain explodes from the offended area, clutching your stomach and gasping to regain your breath. You are kicked over onto the floor, laying curled on your side. He kneels down beside your rasping form, and you take a desperate swing at him with the blade again. You catch his arm and he hisses in pain as it rips through his skin. He growls and pins your arms, forcing you onto your back. Blood drips down from the gash and onto your wrist. You are at the mercy of flashing orange eyes and demonic fury, but you have no intention of dying yet.

You thrust a leg up and knee him in the side, and he grunts in pain. It distracts him enough for his grip on your wrists to loosen a bit, and you swipe your hand from under him, completely intending to give him the best knuckle sandwich you've ever delivered, but all you do is throw off his sense of balance since he doesn't let go of your wrist when you move it. Darn it all, his blood made your wrist sticky! He falls on top of you and your chest catches the brunt of his weight, once again knocking the wind out of you. He groans and you think he might have hit his chin on the floor. Well, at least that move did some kind of damage. You can feel his breath beside your ear as he moves to get up, bracing himself on his elbows. His eyes are narrowed as he looks at you in displeasure, mere inches away from your face. You stare back with an equally potent expression, and he hmphs before getting off you. He sits back and rubs his chin, yeah he totally whacked it on the floor.

“Shades. Give 'em here. Now.” He orders, holding out a hand expectantly, waiting for his eye-wear to be delivered. You look from his hand to his face as you sit up as well.

“Hurry up, I've got more important things to do than clock you in the face repeatedly.” He frowns and you can just barely see his eyebrow twitch with your impaired vision. Slowly, you place the triangular shades in his hand, just now noticing you hadn't put them down from earlier. Once his fingers close around them, he stands and shakes the water from his hair. You give an irritated huff as you cover your face from the droplets, but when you lower your hands, he's gone, leaving you alone on the floor of your bedroom.

You know one thing. You are going to find him again. He didn't kill you when he had so many chances. You want to know why. To know what he is. To know why you are... strangely attracted to him? That's new. Yeah, you're really fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Points to who knows what Dirk is already.  
> Also apologies for the sub-par pictures, I really wasn't feeling it today.


	14. Storm Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is brought to you by the cutest picture of Dirk owo

Your name is Dirk Strider and it has been a few months since you arrived at this strange island in the middle of the ocean. Well, you've more so been wading around the outskirts of the beach. You like to think this could be your new home. You have the potential to live out in the deepest depths of the seven seas, however the comfort you found in solid land remained within you. So you keep yourself near the little island, if only to cling to some semblance of normalcy.  
  
You've more or less come to terms with the fact that you could hardly be considered human anymore, as well as the fact that you are probably the only one of your kind. You're not too sure if the woman who turned you into this made any others, but you really hope she didn't. That shit was beyond painful.  
  
Throughout the duration of your time near the island, you've seen a man occasionally walking about the shore. The first person you've seen in a really long time. You were never able to count the days you were kept a prisoner, but it must have been almost a year. So yeah, the first person you've seen in almost a year. To be honest, you kind of want to talk to him.  
  
You shoot that particular thought down in an instant. You would freak him out. You have fins! And gills! Like, what the fuck? It is a terrible idea and you feel stupid just for thinking it.  
  
It is no lie when you confess that you miss interacting with people. You and your brother used to talk all the time, and sneak out when no one was looking to see street performers dance and play music and juggle fire. He'd stick close to you because the crowds could get a little overwhelming sometimes, and when you both saw fit to take a break you'd buy an orange and he'd buy an apple and you would sit on the steps somewhere in the shadows to eat them. The last thing you ever did with him was fight, and you had to knock him out before you left forever. You sort of regret it, but at the same time you don't. You hope your little bro is okay.  
  
But never mind that. You're dwelling on the past again. The whole point of swimming this far away was to escape what happened. To let it fall through your fingers and sink to the bottom of the ocean. You never want to be part of it again.  
  
So you find yourself peaking over a rock, watching the man collect drift wood off the beach. His hands are dusted with a fine layer of sand, and every once in a while he brushes them on his shorts. You are pretty sure he doesn't know you are there, but you are extra cautious to make sure he doesn't see you.

  
  
Yeah, there's no way he can't know you're there. He's called out to you before, but you always dive beneath the surface. You don't want him to see your freaky tail or creepy fins or gross gills. You are pretty disgusting in your opinion.  
  
But still, you can't seem to keep yourself away. You desperately crave some kind of friendship with him, but you have a pretty good feeling he will find you just as icky as you find yourself. So to compensate, you start tossing him gifts from far away. You got the idea when you found a smooth sand dollar, obviously no longer alive.

They were a rare commodity back in Derse, and you remember people liking them a lot. When you threw it at his feet and he picked it up, it made you a little happy. It was an exchange of some kind, and you would take what you would allow yourself to get. The best part? When he smiled down at it and slipped it into his pocket. It left you scrounging the ocean floor for more dazzling trinkets, just so you could make him smile like that again. Swirling conch shells and obsidian pebbles. Once, you found a pearl the size of a golf ball. Of course you were giving that to him as well.  
  
And then, to your surprise, he started leaving you gifts as well. In the grooves of the rocks where you mostly spend your time. You really like all of the things he's given you, but your favorite by far is the shark tooth necklace. You put it on immediately after receiving it and you don't plan on taking it off any time soon.  
  
It isn't making your longing for interaction any better. Only making it a thousand times worse. But you really shouldn't approach him, you're too different now. You restrict yourself to only daydream about what it would be like to finally say 'hello', and it leaves you kind of melancholy because you know you never will. However, it doesn't stop you from imagining. It really should have though. You're only making yourself sad. In all of your longing, you fail to notice a storm creeping up on you.  
  
The water started getting rougher, but you chalked it up to the high tide rolling in. It was hard to see the sky this deep under water, but you really should have thought something was off when it got so dark in the middle of the day. It wasn't until lightning swooped through your vision that you decided to take a peak above the surface. You are immediately accosted by sheets of freezing rain and angry waves that toss you beneath again. The only thing you can think of is if the man on the island is okay. You are pretty sure he has a shelter of some kind, but you don't know how well made it is, or if he was even inside of it. What if he was out and it was too dark to find his way back? You come up again and squint your eyes worriedly at the exotic trees, creaking in the wind.  
  
Another wave washes over you and pushes you down, sending you spiraling into a rock. Ouch, that was definitely going to leave a nasty mark. You really need to find someplace safe to buckle down and wait the storm out, but you also don't want to venture too far away from the island. You find yourself fighting the currents in order to keep your place, but it's only a matter of time before the storm gets the better of you. Before you know it, a cloud of seaweed is hurtling toward you through the water, catching you in the midst and tangling you in a forest of slimy green. It covers your eyes and you are again knocked against the rocks. Struggling only makes it worse, and you are caught in the throes of the worst hurricane you've ever experienced. Over and over, you hit the rocks, and soon enough, the world recedes into a fuzzy black. Your ears ring with a high pitched grating sound before you fade out.  
  
You're not sure how much time has passed when you open your eyes again. The sun has taken it's rightful place in the sky again and you have apparently been shoved out of the water and onto a rock. However, that is not your immediate concern at the moment. It's the man, he's sitting next to you. He's looking at you, oh please don't look. Don't look at me. You sit up, glancing from him to the water below. You want to leave, but at the same time, you are curious to know his reaction.  
  
He says hello, and dear god you've spent so many hours thinking about saying that to him that you should be able to say it back, but you don't. You only nod.  
  
He asks if you're alright. You give yourself a once over. Purple bruises and little cuts splatter your skin with color. You nod again, tracing them subconsciously with your fingers. Of course you had to look even worse when you finally met him. He then asks if you're the one hanging about the cove, but it's more of a statement than a question. He knows, and you know he knows. And you are afraid he doesn't want you to be here anymore. So you nod. You wet your lips. And tell him you can leave if he wants you to. He shakes his head. He wanted to meet you. He wanted to be friends, too. He's smiling at you, not scrunching his face in disgust or berating you with the same harsh words you use for yourself. And you can't help it, you show a tiny smile as well and nod again. He tells you his name. Jake. You tell him yours.  
  
Above, the sun warms your skin, and you are so very happy.


	15. Through the Walls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every single one of these fics is in a note on my ipod labeled 
> 
> A S S T O W N.

Your name is Dirk Strider. It's Saturday afternoon and you are loafing about in your shitty apartment. You say shitty, but the only bad thing about it really is the fact that the walls are so thin. You can hear the person one floor above you all the time, fucking people into his mattress at least twice a week. Sometimes you're afraid they'll fall through the ceiling. You would congratulate him on his healthy sex life if that wouldn't be the most awkward thing in the goddamn world. Also that shit got old like two seconds after it happened the first time. Now it's just getting exceedingly annoying.  
  
However, he is not the center of your attention at the moment. What swiped your gaze up from your laptop was a loud crash and the call of an exasperated 'cheese and crackers!' through your wafer-thin walls. Must be the guy who just moved in next door to you. You've never spoken to him before.

  
  
"You alright?" You call through the wall.  
  
"Oh! Yes, I'm fine. A couple doohickeys toppled over just now, nothing more! Thank you for your concern though!" You hear him respond. With a shrug, you turn back to your laptop. He's probably having trouble unpacking.

* * *

You're name is still Dirk Strider. It's late into the evening and you are sitting at your desk tinkering with a robot bunny. You plan to give it to Jane when her birthday rolls around again. Adjusting the rabbit's small shades, you make sure they are secure and that they work properly. What a disaster it would be if they didn't light up with messages when they were supposed to.  
  
As you lean over to grab the smallest screwdriver you have, you accidentally nudge the rabbit off the table. It falls to the floor with an anticlimactic flop. Muttering a curse, you bend down to pick it up, setting it back onto the table before putting the last screw in place. Now you just need to make sure it works. Dirk, flip the on switch.  
  
You successfully flip the switch. The bunny buzzes to life, shades lighting up as it tilts its head to look up at you. What you failed to notice is that when you dropped it, it landed on the other switch, which would put you in a bit of a pickle.  
  
"Kill mode activated."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Target confirmed."  
  
"Oh fuck."  
  
The rabbit launches itself at you. The next thing you know you are on your back with a face full of robotic rabbit and tiny busy fists. You raise a hand and yank it away, but it struggles out of your grip and zips over to the cardboard box you keep your shitty swords in. It whips out the best shitty sword you have with a clatter and charges you again. Why did you have to make it so quick? Maybe you should have just brushed the fast rabbit trope to the side to avoid offending the bunnies that the lady three doors down owns. She lets them hop all over her apartment as they please, but mostly they just sleep. You don't think you've ever witnessed them move quickly for anything other than carrot treats. Darn if they aren't the most adorable things you've ever seen though. The rabbit hurtling toward you right now though, wielding a sword and set to kill, is not adorable. Not even a little.  
  
Okay, maybe it's still kind of cute. However, cuteness never stopped you from wrecking shit before. It's not gonna stop you now. You square your stance and prepare yourself.  
  
"Turnip!" You say authoritatively. The rabbit stops in its tracks and drops the shitty sword.  
  
"Shutting down."  
  
You breathe a sigh, thanking your past self for coming up with the emergency shut down command. Of course you weren't about to hurt this innocent robo bunny! You then ask yourself why you chose the word 'turnip' for this particular mechanism.  
  
You don't have long to dwell on it. A voice floats to you through the thin walls.  
  
"You alright, old bean?"  
  
Oh, it's your neighbor. The one who dropped shit like two or three weeks ago. You realize he's copying you. You must have made quite a loud thump when you fell backwards out of your seat. Righting the chair, you respond casually.  
  
"I'm fine. Just a robot bunny going ape shit. Thanks for your concern." You make sure to add the last part to parallel him, letting him know you were onto his shenanigans. He laughs lightheartedly and presumably goes back to what he was doing before, whatever the hell that may be. You pick up the robot from its place on the ground and switch it to normal mode before setting it on the windowsill next to the table. You're pretty sure it works fine after that mildly embarrassing incident. There's no need for another test run.

* * *

You both go back and forth over the months, asking each other 'you alright?' every time one of you hears some kind of crash or cry of distress. Sometimes they were laced with laughter, like the time you accidentally pushed over a box of spare parts and let out a very sarcastic, rather unconcerned 'ohhh nooo'. You could hear his smile when he asked if you were okay.  
  
One thing you noticed was that he was clumsy, so you were the one calling through the wall more often than not. He fell over all the time, each thump of his body hitting the floor preceded by a - rather glorious, in your opinion - shout of surprise. Some were sounds, others were words. Once, you're pretty sure you heard him yell 'pirate nipples' before the loud clunk, and it sent you falling to the floor as well. You asked if he was alright and his reply was more muffled than usual, so he probably hadn't gotten off the ground yet. That was okay, you hadn't either.  
  
Late into the night sometimes, when the guy above you was going at it hard, you would talk loudly with him through the walls. 'Have you heard they're making a new Transformers movie?'  
'Shit, man, have you seen the trailers?'  
'Of course! It'll be out next week!'  
'What? Sorry, I couldn't hear you over the GRATUITOUS FUCKING.'  
And cue the guy from above shouting at you to shut the hell up up. You find it really ironic and hilarious. So does your strange neighbor, who laughs with a bit of a snort. You've come to really like his laugh, and you really enjoy talking to him through your wall.  
  
The first day you actually see him, you don't know who he is. He doesn't know who you are either, so you lean against the edge of the elevator going up to your apartments in relative silence, aside from the jazzy elevator music that they insist on playing at all hours. You walk out one after the other, both reaching for your keys as you stroll down the hallway. You only realize who he is when you are both opening your doors, and you catch his eye and see the recognition flash across his face.  He grins at you, and you smirk back. Say that you should catch that new movie together. His face brightens and he says that that sounds like the bees knees. How's this Thursday sound?


	16. Late Night Musings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super sorry this chapter is a little late! I try to get them out from 2-3 PM EST, but I was learning how to drive today D:  
> On top of that, I don't even have a picture to show for my tardiness because the one I drew sucked ass. I promise to make it up to you tomorrow, I've got a new chapter of the Demonstuck AU in the works right now! Also semi-decent drawings.  
> I wrote this in third-person because I couldn't decide whose point of view would be best.

The alarm clock's numbers glowed 1:23 AM, the room dark in the smallest hours of the morning. Beneath the warm covers of the bed lay two figures, not quite yet asleep.  
  
"Say, Dirk?" Spoke one, little above a whisper if only for the fact that it was so late and there's always that inexplainable instinct to talk quietly.  
  
"Hmm?" Came the reply, just as soft.  
  
"Do you ever think about the grass on our quaint little world?" He asked, rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling fan.  
  
"Not... Particularly?" He said, confusion lilting his words as he cracked an eye open.  
  
"I mean, it's just... Grass is like earth fur," He gave a vague gesture with his hand before letting it drop back onto the mattress, bouncing slightly.  
  
Dirk rolled onto his back as well and let lose a long, but still quiet, "Yooooooooo,"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> take this im sorry this chapter is so smol  
> 


	17. The Bridge (Chase)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drawing is a hell of a lot easier when I have a reference, maybe I'll do that more.  
> also do i  
> do i need to raise the rating for this?  
> Probably not.

Your name is Dirk Strider and you recently socked a guy in the face to get back your asshole shades. Recently as in about three days ago. You don't feel bad about it at all. Of course, Hal wouldn't stop talking about how you didn't despise him like you say you do all the time for a couple hours. Apparently, sticking your neck out for a pair of glasses warrants feelings less negative than previously expected, but you don't _abhor_ him. Really, you just hate how much of a dick he is. It reminds you of how much of a dick you are. You don't want to delve too far into it.  
  
Right now, you are seven kinds of tired. Dave has been keeping you up at night with all his wailing, like chill dude. What do you even have to scream about? Politics? Stop that. Not only are you running on fumes, you haven't been able to get yourself a proper meal in about a week now. Ever since you had to grab your tiny brother and run, you're only concern has been trying to figure out how to take care of him. If you could feed, not sleeping would hardly be half the problem it is now. You've never even touched a baby before this. What the hell were you supposed to do?  
  
Luckily, your good friend Roxy has your back. She is one wicked rad gal and you are forever grateful that she was willing to help your sorry ass out. You are actually talking to her right now, cell phone pressed to your ear by your shoulder as you tote around a baby and a shopping basket. You are really glad no one you know can see you right now. Not that anyone would give you a second glance, you just feel really out of place.  
  
Roxy's voice is coming through the speaker, she's telling you she's letting herself into your apartment and she's going to play with your ps4 until you get back. You hum in reply and ask her if she knows where your games are. She says of course I do, I come over often enough to know that. Shit's basic info. You would shrug if you didn't already have your shoulder raised to hold your phone in place.

  
  
You make your way down the aisles, basket weighted with various grocery needs. You ask her if she knows what kind of baby food is good, you don't want to buy something just for Dave to turn up his nose at it. She answers with an uumm as she shuffles through your collection of games before following up with a 'not the beef with beef gravy'. She tells you to stay away from anything with any kind of meat in the name because those are gross as hell. She recommends applesauce or strawberries and bananas. You ask her how she knows this. She says she has her ways. You say you ate baby food, didn't you? She laughs an affirmation. Seriously, don't get beef with beef gravy.  
  
You sigh and pluck a few jars of applesauce from the shelf, placing them in the basket. What else do babies eat? Well, in the department of foods you can get at a grocery store. You are fairly certain you won't find a nifty jar of organic human energy competing next to a cheaper jar that uses GMOs in here. Fresh blood is out, too, that would give the general public the heebie-jeebies. No, that's just too easy, isn't it?  
  
You ask her if the carrot one is good. Not really is her reply. Gosh, how the hell are you going to give this child a balanced diet of fruits, veggies, and healthy life force? Well, you can feed him your own energy, but still. You are not ready for this kind of responsibility.  
  
Roxy starts to sing Tom Jones' What's New Pussycat with a lot more soul than necessary and you are tempted to join in, however the lady standing next to you is already giving you weird looks because you asked 'what else do babies eat' out loud accidentally. Dave is starting to grab at your nose and you guess now would probably be a good time to end your shopping shenanigans.  
  
You tell Roxy you'll be at your apartment soon, and she says sweet, later. You hang up and slip the phone back in your pocket, rolling your neck to work out the crick that came from bending it like that. You would normally just use your hand, but you have an armful of both baby and basket.  
  
The dude at the checkout counter gives you a fake smile and tells you to have a good one. You collect your bags and exit the store. On the walk home, storm clouds begin to roll in and darken the sidewalks. You heard there would be thunder tonight and you are so glad Roxy is babysitting because Dave is going to wail like a siren. A chubby, squishy little soft-headed siren.  
  
When you reach your apartment, you knock on the door with your foot because you're hands are too full to get the keys from your pocket. Roxy opens it and lets you in, taking Dave off your hands as you set your bags down on the kitchen table and begin putting shit away. All the while she's cooing at your baby brother, oh his hands are so tiny, look at his tiny tiny hands! Itty bitty hands and feet! She twirls around your small kitchen making helicopter noises and Dave laughs his baby laugh.  
  
After you've taken care of the groceries, you lean against the counter with a sigh. You really need to feed, this is so ridiculous. You can't remember being this tired before. Roxy asks when the last time you fed was, and you have to think back a bit. It was Sunday, you think. Yes, Sunday was the last time. She tsks at you and says its Friday. No wonder your eyes are so dull, you're an empty fuel tank. She chastises you on your terrible self-care habits and promptly shooes you out to find a good meal. She makes Dave wave goodbye to you as she stands in the doorway. You thank her for taking care of your brother and tell her there's pizza in the fridge if she gets hungry before setting out to find people to sap energy from.  
  
Well, that makes it sound really bad. You really just take the excess energy people radiate. You COULD drain them completely, but that would get the hunters' attention and you are not about that noise. You aren't even sure how they found out about you in the first place. You are very low key on the profile.  
  
But anyway, people give off different levels of energy depending on their emotional state. If they're happy, their energy swooshes out, kind of like a heavy mist. If they're sad, it's a lot more contained, so you have to hit somewhere people go to have a good time. You've found that the club downtown is a pretty nice place, low lights and lots of alcohol. The perfect cover, as well as plenty of people to feed from, not that you need more than one or two willing participants. Blood is a much more fulfilling meal, though, but you'll save that for when you're feeling up to it again. It's a little more tricky to obtain, since not that many people are willing to offer it to you, but it keeps you sated longer than byproduct energy. After all, blood is basically liquid life.  
  
The clouds overhead are growing thicker, threatening rain, and you wonder if the club's turnout will be affected by the weather. You hope not.  
  
You take a left, heading to cut through the large park as a shortcut because the sidewalk on the right is always backed up with cars blocking the way. You follow the gravel path through the woods, trees passing you as the moon rises higher in the sky. You'll probably be a little early to the club, catching it just as it opens for the night. Who parties at nine? You, apparently.  
  
With a sigh, you continue on your way, benches and plants lining your path as you walk past the fountain that gurgles with water. Something makes its way to your ears, a sound from far ahead on the path. You stop and listen closer. It didn't sound like any kind of friendly woodland creature, that you are certain of. It doesn't find your ears again, and you cautiously continue onwards, narrowing your eyes as you keep on guard. It was probably nothing, but you can never be too careful, especially at an empty park in the evening. As you draw closer to the bridge, you hear it again much clearer. It's a lot easier to tell what's happening, you can pick out the distinctive sound of someone getting punched a mile away. There's a fight going on, and it sounds like a struggle. You are immediately curious, and you quicken your pace in order to get to the bridge over the freshwater lake.  
  
The sound of the fight grows louder as you near, and soon enough the battle comes into view. From a distance you see two figures locked in a stance, one holding the other against the edge of the bridge as he tries to escape. Holy fuck, is that the guy? The guy who shot you in the leg and stole your shades? You are pretty sure that is the guy. You dubbed him 'the guy' since you complained to Roxy about him with that name and it just stuck, even after Hal informed you his name was Jake. It looks like he is struggling against the grip of a demented water nymph. Those things sure are a pain when they go bad. And boy, has this one taken a dive off the deep end.  
  
You've been hearing about people going missing around here lately, and an evil nymph is apparently the answer as to why. You absolutely cannot stand the beings that give the world of demons and fae a bad rep. It is so irritating!  
  
Now she's trying to shove him over the edge, and you are pretty sure she wants to drown him in the lake. She has her hands, green with algae, wrapped tightly around his neck. He is struggling to breathe and- oh, there they go, they've fallen over the edge. You hear the splash as they hit the water and you approach the place they originally were to look over the side, seeing the bubbles and ripples disturbing the once still lake. You should probably jump in and help, but that's the guy who made you have to dig into your kneecap to remove a bullet. You are pretty sore about that subject. Then again, you could probably off the nymph and stop the kidnappings at their source, saving quite a few lives. Also, you could feed from her energy. Supernatural beings have way more energy than humans do. Plus, you wouldn't need to hold back.  
  
You guess you can put aside your distaste for the guy for now because of the chance at food. They haven't resurfaced, so you are pretty certain she is trying to kill him and maybe eat him. You drop your jacket and peel off your shirt, placing your phone and shades in the pile of clothes before hopping up on the ledge and peering down.

  
  
You don't know how deep the water is, so you refrain from entering head first and just jump straight down. Holding your breath, you break through the chilly surface of the pond and swim downwards, the darkness making it nearly impossible to see. The water is quite a bit more frigid than you expected, and you shiver involuntarily. You really hate the cold.  
  
You can sense them, deeper within the murky pool. One wicked, one frantic. Following the feeling, you swim towards the two with your arms outstretched. Once your hands come in contact with them, you grip on tightly and start to tug them upwards, but the nymph whirls around to show you eerily glowing eyes. She had the advantage here in the lake, especially since you were low on energy. You really should have thought this through a little more, but hindsight isn't going to win you the upcoming throw down.  
  
She lets go of Jake, who heads for the surface to get a breath of air so she can focus wholly on you. The light from her eyes shows you how scummy her hair is, and you are kind of grossed out. Hygiene is a big thing with you. Thinking about it, the whole lake was probably really nasty. When you get home, the first thing you are doing is taking a shower.  
  
The nymph claws at you, but you catch her arm and try to pull her up again. She isn't budging, it seems like she's gotten the plants at the bottom to curl around her legs and hold her down. You tug harder, but you only succeed in bringing yourself closer to her. She grins with teeth like the blades of jagged scissors because she knows she's got the upper hand, and she grips onto your wrists to pull you down. You can tell she's just itching to sink her fangs into your flesh.  
  
You're running low on air, and your lungs are starting to burn. You can't reach the surface since she's got a vice grip on you. You raise a leg, slightly slowed with water, and smack your foot into her stomach. She lets out a cloud of bubbles as she bends, but she doesn't release you. You kick her again but it doesn't seem like its doing anything other than making her angry. You wish you could summon your flames, you'd be able to if you fed from something. However, feeding right now would be like trying to drink a cup of tea underwater. Shit just doesn't work. You keep kicking her in hopes that she'll let you go. Your chest feels uncomfortably tight, and if it was brighter you'd be able to see black spots appear in your vision. Your attacks are getting weaker and you can tell she knows you're nearing your breaking point.  
  
That's when you feel a pair of arms wrap around your chest and heave you upwards, forcing the hands of the nymph away. She bares her teeth furiously as you are pulled up, but she disappears into the shadows of the lake. You have a feeling you aren't done with her.  
  
The figure behind you swims you quickly to the surface, and you suck in a gasping breath as you break through.  
  
They say something along the lines of what the dickens or something equally ridiculous and it clicks that it's the guy. The guy- fuck- Jake is the one who pulled you to safety and is now tugging you to the side of the lake. You gravitate away from him and swim there yourself, pushing up onto the bank and collecting your breath. The night air is freezing against your soaked skin, and you proceed to shiver again, jeans sopping wet. He slides up next to you, equally out of breath. He asks what the hell are you doing here, Strider, are you mad? But you don't have a chance to answer before the lake begins to bubble, like something dangerous is congealing beneath the water's edge. Waves begin to splash up to the shoreline in a steady rhythm, reaching out to wash over your shoes. The waves grow taller in height, and you get to your feet to take a few steps back. God, you are so tired you feel woozy, but you keep your stance straight and prepare for what's coming.  
  
The head of the nymph emerges from the water, her hair stuck to her face in a tangled mass of dark locks. She rises up from the middle, standing on the top of the lake to stare you and Jake down. Her eyes are vividly shining through the darkness, animosity rolling through the air, almost palpable. You hear curses from beside you as Jake fumbles for something, but you keep your eyes trained on the nymph. The waves carry her closer and you can tell she is not a happy camper. The least happy camper you've ever seen. That was alright, though. All you had to do was get her in your arms and- gunfire cuts into your train of thought. A bullet hits the nymph in the forehead before she can make it to shore, and she lets out a hair raising screech. Another bullet hits her in the heart and she makes a final effort to get to you before collapsing into the water, dissolving into bubbles.  
  
Well, there goes your plan for a meal. Life energy only really comes from living things. You can't feed from a dead nymph. You think you're about to pass out. The only thing keeping you awake is adrenaline and the cold now. Jake starts talking to you again, you catch your name in the garbled mass, but your hearing is a little out of focus. All you feel right now is ugh and wet. You shakily test your legs and start walking back to the bridge to get your shirt and jacket. He is still talking, telling you to wait, stop. You do neither of these things. You only turn when you feel a hand wrap around your elbow. Jake has stopped talking and is now looking at you intently. What does he even want? You'd prefer to just go home and wash the lake water off than stand out here, cold and shivering and feeling as limp as an overcooked noodle.  
  
You blink blearily at him, and he furrows his eyebrows. Asks you what's wrong.  
  
Why does he care? You shake him off and start walking away, however you find yourself stumbling and bracing your arms against a tree for support. Geez, this is bad. The guy is still there and he's by your side again, asking if you're alright. You mumble something about not feeding in a long time and he narrows his eyes. You're out here to feed? he asks, and you groan and say you don't feel like explaining your completely innocuous methods. He raises an eyebrow and you rub your face, sight blurring a little at the edges. That whole debacle took quite a bit more out of you than you expected. Your legs start to move again and you find that the guy has still not left your side. He asks if you need help. Wow, he goes from shooting you to slashing at you to offering assistance. Unless he's planning on giving up some of his energy, there's really nothing he can do. You tell him so. He frowns and looks to the side. It appears as though he's actually contemplating it, and for a moment you stop, feeling a little hopeful. He looks determined, and says in exchange he wants you to answer some questions. You nod in agreement. You can answer things, that's not too hard.  
  
He looks around, then to you, and asks you how this works. He's apprehensive about it, and you tell him if he's having second thoughts then you aren't touching him. With a shake of his head, he says he just wants to know the process before you start, so you run a hand through your dripping hair and explain it to him. Afterwards, he looks much more confident, says he's ready when you are.  
  
With a nod, you take a step closer to him and slip your arms around his waist, tugging him to your chest and dipping your head down to rest it at the base of his neck. You can feel his pulse, feel the way his breath hitches slightly. He tries to cover it up, but you can tell. He is warm beneath your fingertips and you draw him a little closer than you normally would. You trace up the side of his neck with your lips until you find the place where his heartbeat is the strongest. He shivers and you have a feeling it isn't from the cold. You nuzzle the area and the rhythm picks up a bit, a drumbeat beneath your breath.  
  
Energy trickles from the spot, but it's not at the pace you'd like it, so you slide your tongue out and lick at his neck, enjoying the way he gasps and moves a little closer more than you probably should. You nip at the sensitive skin lightly and he tilts his head, his hands resting on your bare chest as yours lower to his hips.

  
  
His energy is flowing more freely now, and you take this chance to press your lips against the spot, sucking and licking to catch it. His quiet, breathy moan dances to your ears and now it's your turn to shiver, oh, he sounds nice like this. It tastes sweet, like pumpkins, and honestly you don't think feeding has ever felt this good before. Your hands subconsciously rub circles into his hips as your lips move against his neck and you find yourself pressed flush against his body, losing yourself in him, in the way he feels, the way he makes _you_ feel. The heat climbs higher where your skin touches his and you are absently aware that you are starting to leave dark love bites up and down his neck in a bit of a haze. You don't normally do that. His arms loop around your shoulders, fingers combing through your hair to grab a fistful of golden locks as he arches his back into you, and Christ the quiet noises you're eliciting from him are damn near setting you on fire. You want to hear more of them, you want to hear them louder, you want to hear him call your name. You want him writhing beneath you, begging you for more. You want him. All of him.  
  
As that thought crosses your mind, you pause. Where did that come from? Your mind had run rampant, lusting for this man, this hunter, and you loved every second, every movement, every sound. Your mind tells you it's time to step back a bit, this is minefield territory. Don't play there. You've taken enough of his energy. Convincing your body to move away is difficult, and you slip your tongue over the tender skin one last time before pulling away, letting your hands fall from his hips. His arms linger a second longer around your shoulders before he drops them back to his sides, like he didn't want the moment to end. Your mouth tingles with his flavor and you ache to pull him close again but you know you shouldn't. So instead you swallow and thank him for the pick-me-up, you're feeling loads better. Say you're going to get your shirt and jacket and that if he wants to ask anything he should tag along. He snaps out of his trance-like state and moves to walk beside you, clearing his throat before plowing straight into his trove of questions.  
  
He wants to know what you are exactly. You want to know if he can guess. He frowns and crosses his arms, watching his feet move across the forest floor. Something to do with fire? He asks, and you nod, telling him he's on the right track.  
  
A volagma? He suggests. You shake your head no. He purses his lips slightly, going through his mental checklist. You find it cute before you catch yourself. You shouldn't be thinking those things. Stop that.  
  
A pyrotulen? He guesses again. No, you're not a pyrotulen, either. Good try, though. He scrunches his brows a little, obviously deep in thought. You point to the chain around your neck, to the metal symbol hanging from it. You tell him that it's a hint. He cants his head in question and closely examines it, leaning over a bit. He says it's a mighty suave little trinket, but he can't pick much up from it. You shrug and continue walking, finding the path again. You tell him he has to guess and he huffs. Responds that you said you would answer his questions in exchange for his energy. You give him a sidelong smirk and suggest that he was already pretty compensated, if his moans were anything to go by. He sputters, embarrassed, and gives you a small shove. That wasn't the agreement, he argues. Uphold your side of the deal like a proper gentleman!  
  
You chuckle and say that he pushed you, how is that gentlemanly? You are a frail maiden. He scoffs, frail maiden my arse. The ground beneath your feet turns from dirt and gravel to wood and metal as you step onto the bridge, the structure sturdy and well built. You see your pile of clothes near the middle and you are glad no one has stolen them in your absence. You don't want to track Hal down again.  
  
As you approach your clothes, Jake asks another question. Are you the father of that baby?  
  
You nearly choke on your spit. No, you are not a parent. You have no business raising kids, really. It's your little brother, not your son. He asks why you have him, then.  
  
That is a little harder to answer, and you stall a bit as you reach down and pick up your shirt, slipping it over your head and pulling it down. Then you suppose a little more stalling never hurt anyone and put your shades on as well. You'll hold your phone, since your pants are still wet, and you pick up your jacket, tossing it over your shoulder. Leaning against the railing, you sigh and ponder how to respond. He props himself against the edge too, looking at you expectantly. You lick your lips and ask if you can skip this question if you promise to tell him another day. He looks a little surprised, but nods after a moment, and you silently breathe out a sigh of relief.  
  
You decide to pose a question of your own, just to mix things up a bit. What made him decide he was going to be a hunter? He blinks and looks out over the bridge, opening his mouth to speak before closing it again. His eyes cloud over and you can tell he's reminiscing by that far-off look he has. He frowns and confesses that he'd also like to skip this inquiry. You nod in understanding, running a thumb along the side of your phone.  
  
You ask him if he's been doing alright since you fed from him, and he shrugs. He's a smidgen sleepy, but otherwise he's fine. That's good, you hear yourself say.  
  
Above, thunder begins to mumble, and you know that it will start pouring soon. You express your concerns to Jake, and he agrees that you two should head home sooner rather than later. You stand straight and offer him a goodbye, but he catches you by the hand. He didn't grab you, per se, more so he reached out and brushed his fingers with yours, asking for attention. He is quiet for a moment before he clears his throat and wonders when he'll see you again. Despite yourself, your eyes soften, and you take a step closer. He looks up at you in curiosity. You remove the jacket from your arm and drape it over his shoulders, pulling the hood up and over his head. You tell him he'll see you sometime soon and he hesitates before giving you a nod. Your eyes glance over his neck, seeing the marks you left behind with a bit of satisfaction. You'll want your jacket back by then, you add, before tugging the hood further down to block his vision. He makes a noise of protest, but when he lifts the jacket from obstructing his sight, you're gone. All you leave behind are a few love bites and a black jacket that smells like oranges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was practicing driving through a parking lot again today and my mom said "do a doughnut" so we did doughnuts at five mph


	18. He Likes

You first meet Dirk in elementary school, sat next to each other by the teacher’s chart. From the very beginning, he intrigues you, with his reflective shades and spiked hair. He likes horses. He draws them on his work sometimes. You make friends with him easily, the blessing of youth leaving you both able to skip over the awkward first few conversations that came with growing up. You could talk with him freely, and he would talk back with just as much excitement before the teacher would shush you with a stern expression.  
  
On the playground, you’d chase him around and he would chase you and you would laugh and he would smile. You would sneak to the edges of the field to pluck honeysuckle from the bushes and snicker together until the teachers yelled at you both not to eat them.  
  
The grass around the moltch on the playground was trampled by the little feet of all your classmates, leaving stretches of dry reddish earth with patches of yellow and green. You and he would roll around and roughhouse for fun, and sometimes you’d draw a crowd of cheering kids as you gathered dusty dirt on your clothes in the midst of a whirling round of fisticuffs. The teachers would tug you apart and escort you down to the office, but you would sit next to each other outside the principal’s door and grin and laugh with bloodied noses because kicking up trouble was always such a blast.  
  
You stick close to him and he’s glad to have you there. Sometimes he would visit you at your house and you’d play video games with the volume down low late into the night so you wouldn’t wake your grandmother. In the mornings you would sleep late, waking up to him nudging you so that you could keep playing together like all the days before.  
  
Your years roll on into middle school and you have less classes together but he sits with you at lunch and you toss little bits of food back and forth. He still wears those sunglasses and he still intrigues you. He likes horses and robots. He joins a club where he builds all these fantastic contraptions and you’re always the first one he shows them to. Through the club he meets a girl named Roxy, and soon the three of you are a happy little clique, causing enough trouble to set administration topside. You also meet a girl in your FAQS class named Jane, and you don’t miss a beat in introducing her to your group. She helps keep you all in line, but from time to time even she can’t help but delve into the world of tomfoolery with everyone. You daresay she comes up with the most mischievous schemes out of all of you, but they never cause anyone to be hurt in any way. The four of you keep together like charms on keychains.  
  
You remember near the end of the year in seventh grade, you were walking with them through the hallways skipping class when you find two giant bags. They were used when the students had to clean out their lockers, and these were left out apparently. None of you were going to let this shining opportunity slip away, so you do what anyone would do. You take turns having bag races up and down the halls until the hall monitor finds you. Roxy yells at everyone to scatter, and you all run off to leave the bags before the monitor can catch you. You and Dirk hide together in the bathroom stalls, laughing so hard that tears prick at your eyes.  
  
He still visits your house often, and you still play video games as you stay up long past midnight. One day, he comes over, a bit white in the face with hands that grip his elbows shakily. He says he wants to tell you something, please don’t hate him. You sit with him in your room as he mulls over his thoughts, and it’s quiet for a bit before he starts to mumble something. You have to lean a little closer to hear him, and you listen as he whispers that he thinks he’s gay. You shrug and tell him of course you don’t hate him, you could never hate him, he’s your best bro. He gives you a relieved smile, and you’re glad because these days he’s smiling less and less since a poker face is cooler, you suppose (you disagree), and you pull him into a hug and tell him you’re happy he could trust you with this.  
  
You all dive into high school expecting things to be much different than they were, but the horror story television spins more or less falls away and reveals a bunch of kids too stressed to care much about being nasty. Jane entertains everyone with tales of marching band and how the low brass section was a real knee slapper, how that one guy wouldn’t stop playing Adele on the saxophone, how the drum major found a really old black banana in one of the lockers and set it on fire.  
  
The only time you can get with them at school is at lunch, where you sit together at the third table on the left and complain about essays and teachers and cafeteria food. Everyone agrees to make it a point to meet up outside of school as often as possible. You keep in touch over texts and snapchat, and Dirk sends you pictures of him sword fighting. You notice he seems to screenshot the pictures you send him, especially the selfies. He keeps those ever-present shades and he hasn’t stopped intriguing you. He likes horses and robots and swords.  
  
Sometimes he sends you a message to meet him while you’re in class, and when you walk to the stairwell you find him with Roxy and Jane and you stroll together again like you did in middle school, dodging teachers because you’ve gotten so much better at being sneaky. You hide in plain sight, students milling around as the four of you sit in the wrong lunch shift and munch on the bag of mini cookies that Jane bought from the lines. Other times you hide behind the stairs, sweeping the dust away and loafing together in the shadows, talking for hours as classes drag on.  
  
Late into senior year, Roxy wanted to demonstrate how high she could kick, but she was wearing flip flops at the time. Her shoe flew off and hit the ceiling tile, knocking it out of place before her flip flop plopped back to the floor. After snatching it up, she called at everyone to scatter, just like before, and you waste no time in fleeing the scene. You slip into the janitors closet with Dirk and snicker about it for a long time, and while before you wouldn’t think twice about how the space was so cramped that you had to squeeze together, or how dim the lights were, now it was tugging at your mind. You can tell he’s thinking about it too, by the way things slowly get quieter as your laughter dies down and neither of you make a move to leave. You can feel the warmth from his body when you’re this close to him and you can smell that subtle tang of citrus that you’ve come to really like and before you know it he’s moving, his hand finding yours almost timidly in the darkness. The only light comes from the crack beneath the door, spilling white over your shoes but you don’t need to see to know he’s staring at you and you’re staring back. His free hand slowly reaches up to brush over your cheek and he’s leaning forward. You feel your heart pick up and you find your eyes closing in anticipation. He pauses over your lips, your breath intermingling before he whispers your name. You’re about to respond, but he’s kissing you softly and he misses a little because it’s so dark and your glasses clink a bit but it’s wonderful all the same. It’s over after a few seconds, but the feeling lingers like the sun’s heat on a blacktop. You feel yourself grinning as you tighten your grip on his hand. He smiles brighter than he has in years and when he tries to cover it by looking down you place your hands on either side of his face and you can see him happy through the dark. You kiss him again, but it’s less of a kiss because you’re both too busy laughing to do it properly. You stay in there with him for a long time, pulled into each other’s arms and enjoying the way your lips fit together so perfectly.  
  
High school drifts by and soon the four of you are each off to college. You choose to study archaeology, Jane goes to culinary school, Roxy settles into computer programming, and Dirk pursues robotics. More than different classes separate you now, everyone is so far away in other states. All you ever see of them is in grainy group video chats that lag and cut out randomly, but you keep close because no one can imagine life without each other. Dirk sends you goodnight messages and good morning messages and you look forward to talking to him over the phone long past midnight pretending like you were back in elementary school. Roxy sends complaints into the group chat on skype about this guy who apparently likes bees a lot in her class. He’s insufferable, she says, and the two are in a silent feud to one-up the other. Who can get the best grades, whose project works smoother. Jane tells everyone that she’s quickly worked her way up to be the best in class, and that her professor says she’s got a bright future ahead. You expected nothing less from her. Dirk says that he’s made a friend who shares his passion for horses and robotics, and that they have more of an amiable rivalry than Roxy’s with the bee guy. You tell them that you’re buried beneath work, to which everyone sends in a simultaneous ‘same’.  
  
You miss hanging out with them in person, causing trouble and staying out late, enjoying their company and anecdotes. At times you feel a little lonely, but they always respond in the skype chat, and you take comfort in knowing that they still care for you the way you care for them.  
  
Before you know it, you’re fresh out of college and Dirk is telling you that he’s moved into an apartment down in Texas that’s a little too big for one person. It dawns on you that he’s subtly asking you to come live with him, and you are more than happy to let him know that you are willing to. You arrange to fly there after you’ve settled everything on your end, buying a plane ticket to the Houston airport just as soon as you can. The flight seems to take years, and the whole time you bounce your leg in a mixture of excitement and nervousness, to which your neighbors send you dirty looks. When the plane lands, you grab your carry-on bag and help an old woman with her suitcase as all the passengers disembark along the slim aisle, shuffling off in a slow procession. You impatiently move with them, wishing the flight attendants a good day before you step off and walk down the makeshift hall they pull up to the side of the plane with hasty steps, your bag swaying in your hands.  
  
As you step out into the terminal, people swarm around you, the sound of rolling suitcases and murmuring phone calls skipping around your ears as you smell coffee and fast food. Everyone is going somewhere, rushing and walking and waiting and it’s hard to see past them, so you maneuver around the crowd trying to search for that familiar face, except you haven’t seen him aside from video chats lacking in quality for at least four years. Milling around, you look left and right but he never enters your line of vision. A woman asks you if you know the way to the baggage claim, to which you reply that you don’t know either and apologize. She assures you it’s alright with a smile before moving on to ask someone else. You go back to searching for him, and you are starting to lose hope when you hear someone call your name. When you turn, it's only someone with the same name as you, being found by someone who is not Dirk. You sigh and furrow your eyebrows, he said he would be here, he said he would! You know he's somewhere in the airport, he wouldn't lie to you like that. You keep scanning over the faces, occasionally squinting because you need new glasses and you probably should have gotten that taken care of before you flew down to Houston but oh well. After a bit you decide that keeping still would help him find you easier, so you set your bag by your feet and wait. You have faith that he hasn't forgotten because he never forgets and all of a sudden you hear your name again but this time it's different.  
  
You would recognize that voice anywhere, and you whirl around to find Dirk coming towards you and you grin and rush forward to throw your arms around his neck. He catches you and hugs you tightly and you are ecstatic because you can finally hold him again and he looks just the same, with those funny shades and that spikey hair and he’ll never stop being intriguing. He likes horses, robots, and swords.  
  
But he loves you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to try and redraw the kiss from way back when but when i started to draw it I suddenly got the idea of a Laotian Jake because hey it's a big part of me ya know and i hardly see Laotian characters anywhere so i doodled that and then i forgot what i was originally trying to do  
> 


	19. Storm (Dirk's Backstory)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bringing this chapter to you a bit early because i've got somewhere to be later

Your name is Dirk Strider, prince of Derse. Or at least, that's the title you used to possess. Those days are only memories now, drifting farther into the past as you wade on the shoal near the island.  
  
You remember clearly, your brother who was such a little shit sometimes, your mother and father who were always pushing you to become the next ruler. You took it seriously, studying and learning and experiencing your country. You fully expected to take over one day, but things didn't turn out like you had planned. It all fell to pieces before your eyes.  
  
She had many names, but the one you agreed with most was the Condesce. Always scheming, plotting with magic incomprehensible in power. You could hardly list them all yourself. Mind control, incineration, whatever the fuck she did to you. She was incredibly dangerous. Ambitious. And she wanted your country.  
  
You had heard of her before, heard how she was plucking rugs out from under empires and making them her own in a matter of hours. She had just conquered Prospit, the neighboring country, and your brother was devastated at the news. He was good friends with the Heir. You knew it was only a matter of time before she came to take Derse, but you did not flee like your parents suggested. You weren't about to leave your people to suffer under her hands. You couldn't mobilize the military against her, like the kingdom of Skaia had. She turned the soldiers against the people and had them murder the innocent in a terror that lasted five days, and only because she was wicked enough to drag it out to the very last second.  
  
Your magic was weak at best, and unless you were experiencing extreme emotions, nothing you could conjure would work. You hadn't the time to hone your powers between studying and sword fighting, so attack via magic was out of the question. Besides, pitting sorcerers against each other created terrible aftershocks for the land, even though you could hardly even be called a novice in the art. You darkly recall when Prospit and Derse were enemies on a battlefield, and your Seer fought against their Witch. It rained and snowed for weeks, and where they fought the earth was criss crossed in what looked like giant veins, red and slimy and undulating, like the world was an open wound and no bandage would ever fix it. You doubt you could possibly conjure the power that they did, but it was still not suitable for resisting the Condesce. You had no options.  
  
You denied it, no, there had to be a way to defend your country. There had to be a way to beat her. No one is invincible. But that's what she seemed. And when she came to knock down the city walls, you were sleepless and without a plan.  
  
She rounded up a few hundred citizens, picking men and women and children indiscriminately. There was nothing you could do. There was nothing anyone could do. You were losing hope fast, the situation was too much.  
  
She demanded a member of the royal family in exchange for the lives of your people. Naturally, you were first to volunteer, only beating your brother by a fraction of a second. He argued with you over it, reasoning that he was the youngest. Least important. He had to go. But it was your duty to protect your citizens, be it with your life. Your argument got a little out of hand, ending in the both of you throwing punches. You had to knock him out in order to get past. If there had been time, you would have left him a note. An apology, a reiteration that you cared for him. But you couldn't. You were out the palace gates and mounting a horse to ride toward the Condesce, because you knew complying to her wishes would result in the least amount of hardship. It didn't change the fear that rippled through you as you stood in front of her, her shark-like grin letting you know that this was exactly what she wanted.  
  
She had you follow her down to the coast, not far from the walls, accompanied by her hostages. They would watch the show, as she put it. You bit your tongue to keep from saying anything. Her wild hair blew behind her in the wind, longer than she was tall, and her fuchsia lips curved triumphantly in a smirk. She had you wade out into the waves, following not far behind. When she told you to turn towards her, she grabbed you and pinned you beneath the surface. Water flooded your lungs and stung at your eyes, filling your throat and nose, but you didn't struggle in her grip. It took all of your willpower not to thrash and kick, but you detested the idea of giving her the satisfaction. Ultimately, you think your pride is what saved your life.  
  
When you refused to struggle, she dipped her face below the water to look at you clearly. You met her gaze with a glare that you fully intended to be your last act, and she grinned at you. You saw the manic gleam in her eyes as she decided you might be useful. A plaything of sorts. A game. And just like that she stole away your legs and replaced them with a tail. Under her sharp nails grew gills that slanted down your neck. Fins sprouted from your back in sharp points. It was excruciating. Like you were being ripped apart and burned alive, all while you were drowning. The feeling lingered after you sucked in a mouthful of water and could finally breathe again, leaving you contorted on the ocean floor. She laughed and laughed.  
  
The citizens were sobbing when she allowed them to disperse. You don't know if she would have let them go if you hadn't amused her. They raced back to their homes, relaying what had happened to the others. To them, it looked like you had just been murdered. You laid in the water, collecting yourself at the feet of the psychopath who just turned you into an abomination. She kneeled down and grabbed your chin, said you belonged to her now. As if you were an object to be owned.  
  
She took you by the arm and pulled you deeper into the ocean, past the point where the earth breaks off and plummets down into shadows and swirls. Further into her undersea empire. You were her prisoner, and you were to be for years to come. She locked you away at the bottom of the ocean, where she had had countless remarkable palaces constructed, glowing in cold eerie blues. You were guarded by a creature gray and shiny. He was too smart for you to trick, and it was five days before the Condesce came to fetch you. In that time, you weren't fed anything, and it was obvious she planned to use that to toy with you.  
  
You were to be obedient, to be silent unless given permission. If you behaved the way she wanted and cooperated with her games, you would receive food. Needless to say, it was a long time before you could eat anything. She only gave you something to eat since you were a breath away from death, and she thought you too pretty a thing to waste. She wasn't too pleased when she had to give up with her ploy, but she quickly found better ways to make you obey.  
  
Oh, what a pity it would be if your brother was killed, he's just as lovely to look at as you. Your mother is in pieces over your perceived death, by the way. Should I put her out of her misery? I promise to bring back a finger or two for you to mourn over.  
  
She was overcome with glee when her words drove their way under your skin. You sat at her lap as she carded her fingers through your hair and snickered all the while. You felt disgusting. Humiliated. For every word you spoke out of line it was another citizen executed. For every time you let her feed you, it was another day your kingdom could stand free. For all you knew, she could have already leveled Derse and was only using your ignorance as leverage. But you wanted to cling to any form of hope you could. Even if it fell from the lips of the very person who stole all of yours. She was your lifeline, you were her pet, and you absolutely detested it.

  
  
You suppose she was feeling particularly generous one day. She took you along with her, through the ocean and up to the surface. Off in the distance you could see your kingdom, the purple flag flapping proudly just as it was when you left. You don't remember when the last time you saw it was, and you drink in the sight as sadness overcomes you. You miss your home. You can never return. She has made it clear that you are hers forever. You would rather she had drowned you back then.  
  
The days under her cruelly affectionate hand turned to weeks, to months. As you laid across her lap and she toyed with your hair, she mused that Derse was falling into anarchy. She grinned as she told you the people were plotting against the royal family for not doing anything about her attacks. For not being able to do anything. You nearly opened your mouth to tell her to stop, quit terrorizing your country, but you caught yourself, holding your words. She smiled as she saw the turmoil flash in your eyes, pleading with her. Let them be. Please. You know she could read your thoughts. She thought it was funny. She gave you bits and pieces of what was happening. The growing unrest. The panic. It's so much more amusing when it's drawn out, don't you agree? Thank you for introducing me to such a delicious method. She planted thoughts into your head, it was your fault your kingdom was suffering. Your fault people were dying because she would slice throats at every sound that left your lips. Your fault the citizens were rioting. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault.  
  
And the day she took you to the surface again to see how pretty the flames looked against the blue sky was the day you snapped. Your home was burning, and the Condesce was the cause. You could smell the smoke, billowing in dark clouds. What little pride you had left prevented you from breaking down, but that didn't mean it kept you in line. You turned on her, then and there, hands around her neck. Your rampant emotions spiked along with your magic, the current running through your fingertips as you dug into her gills. You didn't know what you were doing, and because of that, neither did she. She struggled against you, and you squeezed your eyes shut because you knew she needed only a second of eye contact to control your mind. You gambled everything that she wouldn't blast you to pieces, lightning rippling over your arms. If you had opened your eyes, you would have seen it as her soul snapped away from her body, but you felt it when she stopped struggling. She was limp in your arms as you floated in the sea, your palms hot.  
  
When you peeled your hands away, they were emanating a dark pink aura, not unlike the Condecse's favorite color. As you stared, your palms began to grow hot, and you knew you had just done something unspeakable. Her soul struggled to escape, and you couldn't hold her for much longer. You had to get rid of her somewhere, a place where she couldn't return to her body. Your hands were burning as if the flames of Derse themselves were licking at your fingers, even when you dunked them underwater.

  
  
You looked left and right, searching for an outlet to place her soul. You dived down, your palms scorching and glowing and you needed to find something, anything, fast. A shout of pain left your lips as you braced yourself against a large rock.  
  
In moments, the pain resided, and you stared at your hands, flat on the rock that now glowed faintly fuchsia. You had just put the Condesce's soul. Into a rock. Completely on accident. You wondered if it would stay there forever, to which you wouldn't particularly mind. You also weren't about to stick around to find out.  
  
After almost a year in captivity, you flick your tail and bolt through the currents, away from the Condesce, away from your fallen realm, away from your past. You were hardly a prince anymore. You were hardly a human anymore. But you didn't think about that as you swam as fast as your fins could propel you. You went farther than ever, hardly stopping to rest. For days, you travelled, putting as much distance between you and your memories as possible.  
  
Now, you look up at the island you discovered, covered in plants so foreign that they leave you baffled, even from afar, and you can't deny that you like it here. You can see Jake coming down the path, carrying something as he waves, and you wade closer to shore as he greets you with a grin. He kicks off his shoes and steps out into the lazily rolling waves, coming to sit beside you in the saltwater. The sun casts warm light upon you both as he holds out something to you. It's a large flower, colored in creamy tones. He explains that his grandmother showed him that they held the sweetest nectar he had ever tasted when he was little. She kept a garden with them in it, and he tended to it after she passed away. They had just bloomed, and he wanted to share them with you. He shows you how to arrange the petals, what to pluck away, and how to drink it. When you raise it to your lips, it really is sweet, the first thing other than salt you've tasted in a long time. He asks if you like it. You nod and take another small sip. He smiles and says he's glad, he really likes them as well. You sit together in the calmness of the waves and the sweetness of the flowers, and you can't help but think that you like him a lot, too.


	20. Seven Days - Day Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been awhile since I've picked this up. I suddenly got ideas!  
> Also warning for this chapter, you shouldn't read it if spiders or the discussion of death make you uncomfortable

It’s the fourth day into your week and you are still hunched over your project, the hint of bags starting to form beneath your eyes. You are not settling for anything short of perfection, and with Jake helping you, it’s possible you might even have a day to spare. The details are being taken care of much quicker than you anticipated, but you refuse to let your pace lag in case unforeseen complications arise.

 As you work, you ask Jake questions. What is heaven like? What does it feel like to die? It quells some of your worries, but you still feel that nagging sense of fear in the back of your mind. You tell yourself that it’s completely irrational, since he’s informed you that heaven is a lovely place and that dying is like stepping into a pool that’s a little cold at first. You think it’s because it’s something you can hardly prepare yourself for, and your only source of reliable information is the angel beside you.

 This brings a question you hadn’t thought of before into light. How had Jake died? You feel like you may push the limit a bit if you ask that question, but you are really very curious. Maybe he hadn’t died at all and he was just born an angel. You hardly know how shit works up there. You’ve been stuck in your mundane life since day one, but even so you are reluctant to leave it. You knew a possible consequence of your actions would be death when you rushed to shove the person out of the way, but you didn’t have time to mull things over before you were thrown across the hood of a car. You wonder if Jake went through the same thing you’re going through. Jake, with his crooked smile and brilliant eyes and awful taste in movies. If so, what did he spend his final week on? You are undeniably interested.

 However, you doubt this question is appropriate to pose, you feel it’s a tad personal. Then again, he obviously knew of your situation, so would it really be that much of a stretch if you knew of his? You shrug and turn to him, letting the inquiry slide off your lips. He blinks at you in surprise a few times before he purses his lips, glancing up and to the right like he was trying to remember. He says that no one had ever asked that before, you really are different. He rubs the back of his neck with a ‘hmm’, chewing on the side of his cheek.

 Well, he begins after clearing his throat. He lived by himself on an island, actually. The place was home to many fantastic beasts who were each fearsome in their own right, and he had dealt with them just fine for a long time. He has a fond half-smile on his face, and you get the feeling he misses his island. However, he muses, one day luck was just not on his side. He was out to gather food when he crossed paths with a large spider. And by large, he didn’t mean bird spider large, he meant the size of a nice, spacious shed. She wasn’t too happy that day, and he never figured out why, perhaps he had wandered a little too close for her liking or her food had managed to scuttle away from her, but she was in search of something to take her anger out on. He had always known that the spiders were extremely hostile, so he prepared himself for what was sure to be the showdown of a lifetime, drawing his pistols quickly.

 Of course, he hadn’t predicted that she would use her disturbing mind control powers on the friendly fairy-bulls of his island. They crowded in front of his face, blocking his sight, and after that, well, have you ever played the computer game Limbo? You nod. It was like that, he says. You shudder.

 When his angel came, he was given the same choice you had been given. Now, or in seven days? Honestly, he didn’t have anyone to say goodbye to, or to miss him when he was gone, since his grandmother had died a long time ago. He chose to die then, and they took him up to heaven, where he was deemed pure enough to gain wings. He shrugs, that’s the story.

You frown when he finishes. He died alone. It’s such a lonely thought, having no one to remember you. You offer a quiet apology, but he only smiles and says he’s happy now, it doesn’t much matter anymore. Besides, it was years ago.

 Still, you can’t help but feel a little despondent about it. There’s not much you can do, really all you can think of is that thing that Roxy does sometimes when she knows you’re feeling down. It’s not much, but you know it makes you feel a little better when she does it. So you move and nudge him with your shoulder, a silent gesture of acknowledgement. He chuckles softly and nudges you back, and you get the feeling you’re a little closer to him than before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E7EXxid4aM0)  
>  skip to 9:10 if you don't know what Jake is talking about when he mentions Limbo


	21. The Current

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another early chapter because I've got things to do today too.

  
You're not sure when you stumbled into love, only that your footwork was clumsy and unsure.

You caught yourself staring at him far too often, adoring the carnival in his laugh, and the way his bright eyes pinched when he grinned. The way he rubbed the sleepy haze from his face as he poured his morning coffee. The way he chewed his lower lip in concentration, the way he ran his fingers through his unruly hair. When you looked up again you realized you were fuck deep in this weird emotion, it was in your chest and in your head and on your tongue. You didn't even know what it was at first. Only that it would crash over you in salty waves and the ocean water would make it hard to breathe.

You tried to lock it away, to ignore it and let it pass, but it was aggravatingly persistent in the most subtle ways. In the stores, you paused to inspect things you knew he would like. When you watched the sun cast its final rays of vivid red, you wanted to share the moment with him. Walking through the busy sidewalks, your thoughts drifted to how nice his presence would be.

These thoughts frightened you. The world was already too loud as it was, there was no need for extra confusion. But your heart still betrayed you, leaping excitedly like a child at a birthday party when his eyes met yours. Don't look at me like that, you thought. Do not search for beauty where there is none. You surrounded yourself snugly with thorns and they left pricks dotting your skin, shallow and bleeding. How could anyone love you when you couldn't even love yourself?

Still, he smiled at you. Even when your thorns tore his hands, he held them out for you. Always a suggestion. A hint of hope, of reassurance.  
  
Many things were scary. Inevitably so. But that's the adventure, you suppose fondly, despite yourself. Maybe shelter wasn't what you were taught. Maybe it was in his arms, in the warmth of his voice, in the curve of his lips.  
  
Soft eyes looked at you as if you were something to be treasured when you knew nothing about you glimmered, no part of you was beautiful. He would tug you close and paint your cheeks pink with tender kisses. He would surprise you into being yourself and it was terrifying falling deeper and deeper because you knew that the pain of losing him would be far worse than any angry thorn's searing point. You were walking on ice.  
  
But he was always there, to fit his fingers between the gaps of yours and touch away your fears. Slowly, you began to untangle your limbs from your crudely knotted safety net. When you faltered, he was patient. When you were slow, he adopted your pace. You built up trust, and soon every part of you came to know every part of him.  
  
The garden in your chest flourished, spilling out over the gates instead of being trimmed short and stomped. Brilliant, he would call you. Bright. You still hadn't quite gotten used to his words. It's easier to love someone else than it is to love yourself. But you had learned to let him in. So maybe you could learn to let yourself out. Splintered was no way to wade through life. Progress came one step at a time, and it was scary, but the risks kept you on your toes. He is by your side and you are sure of him. So you grab onto the current, and pull.  
  


 


	22. Trespass (Chase)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was using a party popper but the spark came out the end that you hold. Now I've got hand burns so this chapter was fun to type up

Your name is Jake English and you have just emptied your cartridge of glass bullets into the once-animated body of a fext. You had to get a special gun for that, and you are forever grateful that Jade knew exactly the place to go for one. You suspect the fext was recently turned, as it had gotten rather full of itself in all of its grandiose new powers. It had completely wrecked a few bars in the area, and you are quite certain several people were injured if the ambulances you’ve seen are anything to go by. Right now, you should probably drag the body somewhere it won’t rouse suspicion, perhaps to the graveyard just south of here. No one would gawk at a dead body in a graveyard, you are pretty sure. With a sigh, you wish that all supernatural beings disappeared when they died, like the nymph from the bridge.  
  
You feel your face grow warm at the thought of the bridge, at what happened after you managed to kill the demented nymph. That blasted Strider had left marks on your neck for a bloody long time! At least a week! Jade had practically hounded you for the details when she saw them, especially after she noticed that you had started wearing his jacket. You told her that you had gotten hit in the neck on one of your hunts, and that you had just bought a new jacket, so what? You are glad his jacket is just plain black, you doubt his style would match yours too well. Jade doesn’t buy it for a second, that you are certain of, however she does leave the embarrassing matter alone. You still catch her looking at you occasionally, with that mischievous look in those snickering green eyes. Big sisters are such a pain sometimes! You still love her, though.  
  
You frown and look down at the dark sleeves. You haven’t seen Dirk in quite some time, even though he said he would come around again soon. You adjust your glasses as you slip the fext into the back of your car and hop into the driver’s seat, starting the engine. You blow your bangs away from your eyes, mildly disgruntled. You really shouldn’t be looking forward to crossing paths with him again. He’s a powerful demon, he could kill you at the drop of a hat! Jade would be so upset with you if she knew what was going on. Or maybe she wouldn’t? You’ve seen her spare demons before, and she has always been super accepting and just overall really great. You might toe the subject with her a bit to test the waters, but until then, not a peep is leaving your whistler!  
  
As you drive through the city streets, lights reflecting off the cars and windows around you, you allow your thoughts to wander a bit. What exactly was it about him that was so captivating? Was it his demeanor? His eyes? Were you instead only drawn in by how mysterious he is? As much as you’d like to brush it under the rug with that assumption, you are pretty sure it is more than that. You doubt a mere abstruse fellow could make your stomach flip so readily or turn your legs to jelly with the touch of his lips.  
  
You are jarred out of your reverie by your phone buzzing in the passenger seat, and upon a quick glance you see the picture you assigned to Jade’s contact lighting up. You make a mental note to check the message after you arrive at the graveyard. You hope she doesn’t start bugging you about the hickeys that recently faded away again. Maybe she just sent you a picture of a cute dog. You think a cute dog would be a lot better for getting your mind off your recent troubles than a mark directly linked to your unrest. If you could even call those stupid butterflies unrest. It doesn’t help that you have his jacket either. It smells nice, like him, and it’s lined with a really soft material that makes it quite comfortable and warm. You are definitely not wearing it for any of those reasons though! You keep it on you so that when you do run into Strider again, you won’t have to tell him that his jacket is back at your apartment and that he’ll have to wait for you to get it. Yes. That is the reason.  
  
About fifteen minutes of denial later you find yourself digging a hole near the very back of the admittedly impressively large cemetery. It is your go-to place for getting rid of bodies that don’t disperse into ash or bubbles or hellfire. The place could use to cut the grass every once in a while, it’s been allowed to grow to your knees, but you suppose it just makes it easier to hide the upturned earth if no one can see it. After dropping the body into the hole and reburying it, you maneuver around the headstones to find your way back to your car. You slip into the front seat again and reach over to check your phone, opening Jade’s text.  
  
GG: hey!  
GG: careful out there tonight, looks like supernatural activity is fluctuating right now!  
GG: not much info as to why exactly, but we are working on it  
GG: stay safe!  
GG: <3  
  
Oh, Jade. She is always looking out for you. You send a quick message back thanking her and wishing her well, too. You wonder what could be going on with the demons right now. You bet Dirk would know. If he would actually tell you is another story. You understand why he would want what kind of demon he is a secret, because if you knew, you could whip up a weapon to kill him, just like you did with the glass bullets. Though you doubt you even would at this point. It’s kind of like a trust thing you suppose? You’ve only actually talked with him a grand total of three times, two of which you were attacking him. It’s understandable that any trust the two of you even have is rather tenuous, though you think you felt something more when he was feeding from you. The whole process was rather intimate and you are unsure where exactly your relations to him stand. It’s all so weird!  
  
It also brings light to the fact that you may have been a bit in the wrong about demons all these years. You were so clear on the fact that every demon was evil and wretched but when Dirk showed up shielding his baby brother with his own body and distracting the nymph long enough for you to get away for a moment, things weren’t so clean cut anymore. They’ve gotten muddled and they’ve faded into blurring hues that leave you confused, not to mention second guessing yourself every time you go after a demon. You miss the simpler times of about two weeks ago.  
  
Of course, you are not about to quit your job as a hunter. Your family is counting on you! You simply cannot let them down. With that thought, you pull your car into drive again and decide that you’ll stay out for a bit longer in case Jade or John or Jane call in for backup. Your sister said things were getting a bit rowdy, so it’s not too much of a peculiarity to think they might need help. It isn’t long before you receive a message from your cousin John saying that he’s found an aswang and that he wants to know if you have that big obsidian knife on you because it’s the easiest to cut off heads with. You do, actually, since you keep your weapons in the duffel bag beneath the back seat. You send back an affirmative and he gives you his location, at the place where Grent and Pake Street intersect.  
  
It isn’t too far away, and you arrive in under ten minutes. John greets you and you exchange information quietly. It went down that way not long ago, I’m pretty sure it’s out looking for a meal. You nod and set off with him, jogging down the streets in search of the creature. If you don't find it soon, it will eat another child. You haven't a second to waste.  
  
John keeps the special bottle of oil he received from Jane held in front of him, watching it for changes. After turning a few corners, it begins to sizzle, signaling that you are getting close. Quickening your pace, you let the oil guide you to the aswang. The sidewalks carve your trail through the chilled night, taking you through back alleys and past dumpsters where skittish homeless people fish for sustenance. A few stray mangy cats blink at you lazily but find you no more interesting than a crack in the concrete, worth no one's time. Eventually, you're lead away from any people and squeezed past a chain link fence to reach the back of an ordinary apartment building. A flash of movement catches John’s eye, and he pauses to point it out to you. As you both approach cautiously, the oil raises to a rolling boil, letting you know you had found your target.  
  
You also realize that you are really crunching short on time as the figure begins to quickly crawl up the side of an apartment building. It hasn’t noticed either of you yet, so you still possess the advantage, however it won’t matter if you can’t save a life. John gestures for you to take care of it since you are better at scaling buildings than him, even though he is better at melee fighting than you are. You don’t argue, though, as it is already attempting to unlock a window. You place the hilt of the knife between your teeth and silently walk over, jumping up to grab onto the ledge of the first floor window. Tugging yourself up, you reach for the second ledge, keeping your body pressed against the side of the building. You’ve got seven more to go, and you pick up your pace as you rely on your experience to pull yourself up. A glance tells you the aswang is still focused on picking the lock, but you aren’t sure how much longer you’ll have to get up there.  
  
The brick of the building scrapes at your knees and palms as you huff a breath around the knife and hop to the next ledge. Your arms are starting to burn a bit with exertion, but you are no stranger to such a feeling. A click alerts you to the aswang working the lock and your heart rate picks up as you see it slowly slide the window open. Golly, you really need to hurry up.  
  
Foregoing safety and silence, you spring up faster, looking an inch away from falling and probably worrying John a bunch but he’ll live. The aswang scuttles into the apartment room and you are still one ledge away.

 

You thrust an arm upwards and grip onto the bottom of the opening, hefting yourself over and landing quietly in the apartment, seeing it looming over a crib on the other side of the room. You ready your weapon and prepare to bound into action, but you are beaten to it by another figure that blurs into view and slams the creature against the wall. You damn near jump out of your shoes, holy crap was this person fast! The aswang struggles violently in their grip, the ruckus waking the baby in the crib. You hear the infant’s cries over the loud banging of the thrashing hybrid, snarling and hissing and baring its teeth. The person holds it in place without difficulty, a growl of their own mixing with the array of noises. They keep it pinned for a few more seconds before reaching up and mercilessly snapping its neck with a sickening crack. A small gasp leaves your lips. Maybe it's time you launched yourself out the window and never look back. The creature continues to convulse limply, head lolling as the person turns to you with a glare. Orange eyes glow like embers through the dark and suddenly you know exactly who it is.  
  
A pause ensues as he realizes just who you are, and his look drains of venom as he says your name through the dark. You wave at him a bit sheepishly and point to your knife, telling him that in order to really kill it you’d have to chop off its head. Otherwise it would heal up soon and become a problem again. He looks from the black knife to the twitching creature and nods, pulling at away from the wall and dragging it remorselessly across the floor as he waves at you to follow him.  
  
You trail along behind him as he leads you to the bathroom where he holds the aswang over the edge of the bathtub and looks at you expectantly. Getting the message, you kneel beside him and raise your blade to the back of its neck before lifting it up and hacking it down. Blood pours from the wound and into the tub, leaving ghastly trails of reddish brown. It keeps twitching weakly until you sever the last bit of skin, the cranial mass dropping into the tub with a thump.  
  
You wrinkle your nose at the smell, aswangs gave off a horrid stench when killed. Dirk makes a sound of displeasure and requests that you wash the blood down the drain. He's got to go make Dave stop crying. You nod as he leaves and turn the knob on his shower, letting the water from the faucet mix with the blood, diluting it to an unpleasant color and carrying it away. It also partly carries the putrid smell away, but since the body is still here it lingers.  
  
As you let the body drain, you get to your feet and walk out of the bathroom to find Dirk. He’s in the room you first came in, the baby in his arms as he gently rocks it.

His eyes flick to you as he calms Dave down and you ask if he has any garbage bags. You need a way to transport the body without it being so messy. He nods and walks out to the kitchen with Dave held close to his chest and opens a cabinet beneath the sink, reaching in and tossing a box to you. You catch it with ease and flip the top open, removing a bag and handing the box back, which he replaces under the sink.  
  
You make your way back to the bathroom and begin putting the body into the bag, tying it closed once you’ve tossed in the head. You splash the water up the side of the tub, getting all the excess blood off and lugging the bag to the room with the window you climbed through. Sticking your head out, you call down to John and toss the bag over, telling him you’ll be down in a second and that he can go on ahead. He looks a bit confused, but complies and picks up the bag, making a disgusted sound as he smells it. He jogs off again and disappears around a corner. After watching him leave, you move back to the kitchen where you find Dirk leaning against the counter with a much quieter baby. It seems he was successful in calming him down. You walk towards him as you slide off his jacket, saying that you should return it to him. He hums in reply and says it looks better on you. Keep it.  
  
Your heart skips at his comment. Are you sure? You ask. He nods, and you hesitate for a moment before you slip the jacket back around your shoulders and thank him. Dave squirms in his arms and grabs at his wrist, to which Dirk sighs. You’re hungry again? He mumbles before pressing his wrist to his outstretched thumb and breaking the skin with his nail, raising it to the baby’s mouth. Dave readily latches on and drinks the blood seeping from the small cut as you watch, mildly unnerved. You brush it aside and lean against the counter next to him, asking where he’s been.  
  
He shrugs and says he’s been busy taking care of his brother. Little shit’s been trying to bleed him dry apparently. He doesn’t want to bother his friend with babysitting all the time, he’s pretty sure the novelty of a baby that sometimes sets things on fire would get old quickly. Why? Were you looking forward to seeing me again? He smirks at you and you frown, saying you were only holding him to his word when he said he’d be around soon. Truthfully, you really were wanting to see him again, but you aren’t about to tell him so.  
  
You hope he doesn’t figure it out, Jade has always said you’re so easy to read. He looks back to the baby and offers you a quiet apology, so you have a feeling he’s aware. He wants to know if you were able to get back to full energy alright after he fed from you, and you respond that after a night’s rest you lost any fatigue that came from it. He nods in approval as he watches Dave drink the blood from his wrist. You ask him if he’s been feeding enough, to which he shrugs again. Says he can get by. You tell him that he’s welcome to take energy from you. He looks at you with slightly raised eyebrows. Asks if you want him to. You shrug and say that if he needs it, you can provide it. It wouldn’t be a problem, and he wouldn’t have to run himself so ragged taking care of his brother. He whispers to the side that you totally want him to. You pretend you didn’t hear.  
  
He says he might just take you up on the offer with a grin and you nod. Tell him he knows where you live. If he could drop in a message before showing up that would be great. He asks for your number and you ask for a pen. Soon, you’re scribbling phone digits on his arm, him commenting that your hands are cold and you replying that they get like that sometimes. Dave has since fallen asleep, and Dirk walks back to the room and places him in the crib. You look over the side and remark that he’s awfully cute to be called a little shit. Dirk assures you he is the littlest shit that ever shitted and you chuckle softly.  
  
Jade’s text from earlier returns to your mind, and you inquire if Dirk knows what’s going on with the demons around here. He affirms that he does and asks what you’re doing out if you know it’s dangerous. You tell him it’s kind of your job.  
  
Fair enough, he responds, and leads you out of the room as to not wake the baby again. You sit with him on his couch as he starts to tell you what’s going on.  
  
There’s a big shot that recently took the elevator up from hell by the name of Caliborn. He’s looking for ingredients for an immortality potion since he doesn’t naturally possess such longevity. Dirk is pretty sure that he’s going around beating answers out of demons to find the parts faster. That’s what’s got them so spooked.  
  
An immortality potion? Such a thing exists? You tilt your head. He nods. It’s extremely difficult to gather all the components for it, but Caliborn’s fucking insane and he’s dead set on acquiring them. You ask what kind of things are needed for it. Dirk admits that he only knows of a few, the venom of a manticore, the crushed eye of an elemental, the sap of the world tree. You get the feeling he’s withholding some information, and you are unsure as to why.  
  
Before you can ask about it, your phone buzzes in your pocket. John is messaging you, asking you if you’re alright. He’s waiting for you back at your car. You respond that you’ll be there in a moment and stand. You tell Dirk that you should get going, and he walks you to the door. After you offer a goodbye and walk out, he calls to you. You turn to see what he wants, and he smirks.  
  
See you soon. For real this time.  
  
The door closes.


	23. Seven Days - Day Five

The fifth day into your week finds you rubbing your eyes awake as the clock ticks past twelve in the afternoon. You can normally go for longer before you start showing these signs of fatigue, but you guess getting hit by a car kind of took it out of you. Your project is coming along great, it should be completely finished by tomorrow. You look forward to seeing it done.  
  
Jake has been a fantastic helper, and you tell him so. He smiles brightly and says it’s his pleasure. You test how the fingers move for the third time, approving of how smoothly they bend. You are very proud of your work.  
  
As you continue applying miniscule details, Jake shifts in his seat. Looks up and to the door. He keeps his eyes trained on it with furrowed brows and you are vaguely reminded of when the demon attacked. You ask him if another is coming.  
  
He shakes his head, it’s someone else. You are about to pry further, but you are interrupted by a woman’s voice drifting from the living room of your apartment. Hello, is this the residency of a Dirk Strider?  
  
Jake gets to his feet and walks out. You follow behind him, slightly calmed by the fact that he doesn’t seem tense or uneasy by this woman’s sudden presence. When you reach the living room, you see her, a lady with long curly black hair and dark skin. Her lips are painted a rusty red and she smiles at you and Jake.

  
  
Aradia, Jake says, what are you doing here? He doesn’t sound accusatory, his tone is friendly and curious. She continues to grin and explains that she was sent to collect your soul. You move a little closer to Jake at that. She takes a step towards you and asks if you’d like to come with her to the afterlife. We have doughnuts on Fridays, she adds, just to sweeten the deal.  
  
While doughnuts are pretty rad in your book, you decline, saying that you have things to take care of and that you are already going to heaven with Jake. He rustles his wings, seemingly pleased that you chose to go with him instead. She just smiles and shrugs, turning to Jake to say that people always choose heaven instead, she’s not too surprised. Not many people are so tempted by weekly pastries.  
  
The angel asks her what’s going on in the veil, they don’t normally take this long to send reapers. She informs him that they have been having the most wonderful corpse party the past few days. With real corpses, too! She has party hats if he wants one.  
  
Jake laughs and shakes his head no. She asks if he’s sure, it’s got a bobble on the end. She removes a pointy hat from her bag so he can see. Jake turns it down once again, so she offers it to you. You are slightly unnerved by her talk of a corpse party and say you also do not want a hat. She is hardly put off and instead straps it onto her own head, saying that if she wasn’t collecting any souls then she might as well return to the fun. Bye bye! And with a little wave, she disappears. You stare at the spot she was standing in moments ago with corrugated brows.  
  
Strange one, isn’t she? Jake muses fondly. You nod and say that you weren’t expecting reapers to be so nice and happy. That’s Aradia for you, he replies.  
  
Are there always so many people going after one soul? You ask.  
  
More or less, it depends on the soul itself. Hard to say, really.  
  
You hum in reply. Jake hums back and looks at you closely. Says there’s an eyelash on your cheek. He reaches up and softly brushes it away. Your heart skips at his touch. Your mind wonders what it would be like if he let his hand linger. You suggest you get back to work, to which he agrees and follows you to the room again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because angel Jake with bunnies was mentioned  
> 


	24. Ink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because this AU is dear to my heart  
> i also experimented a bit with style and color in my doodle because my normal methods weren't going to work

Morning is slowly coming to an end as you tend to the flowers in the shop, golden light streaming through the tall windows as the few customers you have at the moment mill around and admire the selection. Carnations, lilies, daises, roses. The colors swirl around you in gorgeous hues and you take a moment to reflect on how you like this job a whole lot more than you thought you would.

  
  
As you arrange the displays, the bell above the door to the shop chimes, letting you know someone had just entered the store. Looking up, you see a man with tattoos crisscrossing up his arms perusing the various shelves of flowers. Brushing your hands on your apron, you walk over and ask if he needs help finding anything. His eyes meet yours through your shades and you are momentarily floored at just how green they are, with flecks of brown that remind you of emerald forests and wooden playgrounds.  
  
He smiles and says he was looking for something beautiful to sketch up back at his tattoo parlor. It’s just across the street from here. You suggest camellias, a gladiolus, perhaps? He shakes his head and says that you fit the ticket rather nicely.  
  
Quirking an eyebrow as a hint of a smirk pulls at your lips, you tell him flattery won’t get him a discount. He asks if it might get him a date instead. You nearly laugh and offer him a maybe. A definite maybe. Probably nearer to a yes than you’re willing to admit. He smiles again as he plucks an amaryllis from the shelf, saying he’d like to purchase it. You lead him to the counter and give him the total. When he hands you the money your fingers brush and he catches your eyes again. After that, he leaves, and you feel a little giddy the rest of the day.  
  
A couple days pass before you see him again. The shop is empty save for you and your manager, who is taking lunch in the back. The bell rings again, and you find him walking through the door, his gaze finding you in seconds. He smiles again and walks up to the counter, leaning his elbows against it. About that date, he says. You bite at your cheek to keep from smiling back. I get off at seven, you tell him. He grins brightly. Says he’ll meet you here? You nod. Before he leaves, he calls over his shoulder that his name is Jake. You give him your name, and he waves before he leaves again. You quite simply cannot wait.  
  
He picks you up on a motorcycle, and you ride with arms clutched around his chest. He takes you to a restaurant where you sit and laugh with him long after you’ve finished your meal and soon enough one date turns to two and then three to four. He kisses you for the first time when you’re in the theatre watching some lame action movie, and you grin and push the armrest up so you can lean against his shoulder.  
  
Months drip by like a faucet someone forgot to shut off and you grow to like him more and more, the way he laughs and talks and holds you close. Your fingers trace over the ink in his skin absently, a little drunk as you sit with him in your apartment. Something is playing on the television but you’re hardly paying attention, the sound buzzing vacantly as you lightly drag your thumb along the curve of a skull on his forearm. His eyes flick to you as you settle against him, feeling your fingerprints dusting over his skin.  
  
He kisses you then, too, and he tastes like the whiskey you were both enjoying earlier. You grin lazily and bury your face against his neck, mumbling that he makes you feel better than alcohol ever could. You think you feel his pulse pick up, but you aren’t sure. His arms snake around your waist and you get the notion that he’s a little more sober than you are.  
  
Sometimes he visits you at the flower shop, buying things to take back to his parlor, and once or twice he’s bought blossoms just to give to you. You laugh and call him a sap, but it feels like he’s stayed with you after he leaves when you look at the flowers he’s gifted. Your chest grows warm.  
  
A few more months roll by in a blur of smiles and fireflies and summer fades into autumn the way dreams blur together. You sit with him on a park bench and look up at the trees that cradle brilliant leaves and it’s the first time you tell him you love him. He smiles and his eyes are so soft when he says it back and squeezes your hand like he never wants to let you go. You hope he never does.  
  
You whisper it back and forth when he tugs you to bed, between kisses and sheets and moans as he covers you in his tattoos. He says your name and everything is perfect because you’re saying his name back and his lips find yours again, slow and sweet and wonderful. When you lie in his arms you’re home, and you always will be even if you’re miles away from your apartment as long as he’s with you.  
  
You sit with him and he scrolls through the pictures on his phone, zooming in on people’s faces caught by the camera at the wrong time and you both crack up, leaning against each other in snickers and trying to zoom in closer. You’d share an earbud with him and listen to old songs and gawk at the fact that this song was made how long ago? Your mind had memorized the beat of his heart and the curl of his hair and every winding tattoo and you are so glad that he flirted with you the first day you met because you can’t remember ever being happier. You think he is, too, by the way he looks at you with eyes like august and the way he takes your hand and the way he loves you, intense and gentle all at once.  
  
The mornings turn from chilly to warm again and the seasons blend together. The sound of his breathing mixes with the rain when you lay with him, tangled in blankets and each other’s arms, and you have a feeling you’ll be with him longer than any kind of permanent ink.


	25. Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on things that have happened to myself

You aren't really sure how this friendship started. Maybe it was a coincidence, maybe it was fate or something stupid like that. Whatever happenstance this lovely little train wreck was, you are sure glad it decided to be a thing. Because in the middle of high school, you can never have too much support.  
  
The teacher had reminded the class at least ten times to write the names of the cities on the maps you were drawing in all caps, and yet there goes the hand of that one kid, asking how she wanted them to write the names of the cities.  
  
You sigh to yourself and look across the room, catching Dirk's eye. He has the same expression, caught between painful hopelessness for that kid and irritation. You stare at each other for a few seconds before turning back to your work.  
  
This trend started pretty early in the year. When someone said or did something asinine you would look at him from across the room with a tired deadpan and he would look back, as if reassuring you that not everyone had rocks for brains. It wasn't exactly how you imagined making your first new friend of the year would go, but you aren't complaining. He makes for a good partner in group work since he can pull his own weight, unlike so many others in your class. He most likely thinks the same thing about you, since he never chooses to work with anyone else. You don't really want him to, either.  
  
Eventually he starts to sit with you at lunch and you both have a grand time complaining about anything and everything wrong with the world. When you're not busy whining to each other, you share weird stories and jokes and it makes a sound foundation for a strong friendship. You tell him how you got the scar on the corner of your eye - you had been about three and playing in the sand when two dudes decided that surfing on a kayak was a good idea on a rather populated beach. They would jump out before the wave crashed over them and let the kayak ride free, and it had come hurtling towards you, inches away from taking an eye but you were fine aside from the scar that was hardly noticeable. He has to lean in close to see it and you have to close your eyes because it blends with the folds on your eyelids and you feel cool fingers brush over the area. Rad, he says, and you smile. Then he tells you about the scar he has on his side from riding a bike. He guesses there was some sort of bump in the road, and when he hit it, it knocked him off. He totally got the sickest air, but he ended up landing on a rather unforgiving rock. He lifts up his shirt to show you, and you run your fingers along it, too. It's bumpy and raised and discolored but you don't think it's ugly in the slightest. Cool, you say, and he grins.  
  
Soon enough his name is added to the contact list on your phone and you're texting each other back and forth at all hours. He sends you messages when you aren't in the same class together, telling you about the 'adventures' of level one art. The curriculum isn't too exciting, but boy are the people. Apparently some kid was complaining about hairy nipples, so this other kid lifted up his shirt to reveal his admittedly quite hairy nipples and plucked off a strand, placing it on the first guy. He flipped the fuck out, says Dirk, and you don't doubt it for a second.  
  
In history he scoots his chair over to you to sit whenever the teacher puts on a movie or documentary, and you make comments about them with him quietly. Sometimes you'd take a deck of cards from the basket on the teacher's game shelf and play slapjack with him, and he would shake with silent laughter at the way you played. 'Why do you always reach out so slowly and why does it always work so well?' Then he renames the game 'The Claw' because speed wasn't of the essence when you participated, it's catching the other person off guard with out-of-place motions. No one expects someone to move slowly in slapjack. Then he starts to do it, too, capturing the deck with languid motions before you have a chance to realize what's going on. And so commences the many rounds of slapjack wars. Your teacher doesn't mind as long as you don't make too much noise. She's chill like that.  
  
Your friendship with him follows throughout the year, and as June rolls around the corner, you sit with him in the morning before the bell rings, yawning at how tired you are. He's in the middle of saying there are only about twelve days of school left when the fire alarm goes off. You both exchange the look, ugh, we do not need this, it's way too early, and you get to your feet to join the procession of kids who are just as unconcerned as you are. It most definitely was not a drill, since they would never set it off at this time, so you should probably be a little more worried about it, but you aren't. When you get outside, it's sprinkling cold rain and Dirk grumbles because it will ruin his hair and neither of you have an umbrella.  
  
You stand together in the crowd of students groaning about the weather, milling around the parking lot to pass the time as you watch fire trucks blast their way onto the scene. Dirk snaps pictures and you take a selfie with him, your smoking school in the background.  
  
The rain only picks up the longer you're outside, and soon it's 'absolutely pissing down' in Dirk's words. He's more or less accepted his fate, letting his hair hang in ruins, and you laugh at him, your glasses covered in droplets. You manage to snap a few pictures of the firemen and send them to your grandmother with the caption 'Firemen! Hot hot.' To which she replies with a winky emoji. Dirk snickers at this and says you have a cool grandma, and you agree wholeheartedly.  
  
You're outside watching firemen traipse about for what has to be an hour before Dirk finally says he's had enough. He's going home, and you're welcome to come along. You agree that this is ridiculous, and you join him as he starts to walk off in the midst of pouring rain and soggy backpacks. As you near the edge of the school grounds, the assistant principal shouts at you. Get back here, school hasn't been called off yet. Then she's speed walking towards you, and Dirk takes hold of your hand.  
  
Run, he says, and you do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had so much fun drawing this picture ouo


	26. Gone (Chase)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot believe i slept until 3 pm

Dirk keeps his promise to see you again. It’s not long after you accidentally visited him that he sends you a message asking if he could drop by. Love bites scatter across your neck again that day, and Jade gives you knowing glances when she sees them. You find yourself googling ways to make them fade faster, soon after holding a bag of ice wrapped in a hand towel against your neck. They do go away a bit quicker than the first time, however your efforts were for naught as he again shoots you a message asking if you’re free. He leaves marks up your neck like fingerprints and each time you can’t help but gasp beneath his hands, your heart betraying you as it pounds in your chest when his lips brush your skin. He always leaves soon after, but not before making sure that you’re okay, that he hasn’t taken too much. A smile works its way to your lips because you can see that he cares.  
  
You’ve since stopped trying to get rid of the marks, he’ll only replace them with new ones once the others disappear. You just take to wearing a scarf, you’ve noticed that a lot of people follow such a trend lately. Jade teases you, oh, it’s a gray one to cover the hickeys today? Then you’d tell her to bugger off and she’d giggle, asking when you were going to introduce them to her. Somehow you’ve managed to evade these questions over the weeks.  
  
You’re glad that you remembered to tell him to text you when he wanted to pay you a visit, because sometimes your family comes over to chat with you, talking about demonic activity and new hybrids cropping up. Jane also likes to bake with everyone, much to John’s chagrin, so he sits out as everyone else enjoys her top notch cakes and cookies. She leaves some for you, and Dirk has stolen a few on more than one occasion. He tells you to pass on his compliments, but you aren’t sure how to do so without tipping off the fact that you are willfully allowing a demon to feed from you on a regular basis. You choose to keep quiet about it. You doubt it’s too important to him.  
  
You’re not too sure when he started coming over just to see you, just to talk. You hardly notice at first, since he appears in your apartment so often now. He’s grown affectionate towards you, and at times when you’re expecting him to kiss and bite at the soft skin beneath your jawline he only rests his head. Your chest flutters at his presence, especially when you can feel his soft breath against your collar bone and his warmth against your side. Once or twice, when he gets like this, he’s allowed you to toy with his hair, and as long as you don’t mess it up too badly he won’t complain.  
  
He seems to like it when you drape your arms around his shoulders if the pleased sounds he makes and the way he rolls his hands over your hips are anything to go by, and you are pretty certain they are. You wonder when it was that you became so comfortable with him, at ease enough to let him kiss at your neck and curl up against you so many times. He’s still a demon, but somehow you find that you care less and less what he is. Sometimes it will cross your mind, but it’s more of an afterthought than anything now. He’s Dirk to you. He’s the person who pokes fun at you for how often you wear his jacket, the person with wit at its sharpest when he’s being sarcastic, the person who offers love bites in ample supply, and he’s the person you let give them to you. He’s the person you look forward to receiving them from, who you look forward to seeing altogether.  
  
One afternoon John, Jade, and Jane drop by your apartment, toting with them a few bottles of liquor that you all crack open and enjoy, getting a little drunk as the sun melts into evening, save for Jane, who doesn’t particularly like the way alcohol tastes. You supply her with soda instead because you are an excellent host. Everyone is a marvelous drinking companion, especially after you’ve had a few glasses. Everything gets so funny, and you sit on your couch together snickering at nothing until the bottles inevitably run dry. Jane is the one to take everyone home, and she tells you to get to bed soon since it’s growing late. You would, but your couch is just so comfortable and you don’t really want to move from it just yet. It’s then that your phone buzzes with a text from Dirk, is now a good time? Now is a fantastic time you respond, admiring the way he always uses perfect grammar in his texts, who even does that anymore? Well, Jane does too, you suppose. You don’t know why they take the time to be so precise, but it certainly looks nice. Like books.  
  
You hear Dirk appear in your apartment, the little whoosh of air you’ve come to pick up over time a little fuzzy in your ears. He leans over the couch to find you sprawled over the cushions smelling of alcohol, and he quirks an eyebrow at you. You wonder if he means to move his eyebrows, since the rest of his face normally stays so flat. A poker face with expressive brows. You often hear people say that eyes are the window into the soul, but they’ve obviously never seen Dirk’s eyebrows before, otherwise they would change the saying. The whole conundrum is comical to you, and you grin up at him and give a cheerful hello. He rests his chin in his palm and remarks that you’re drunk. You shake your head, no you are completely sober at the moment! Maybe he’s the one that is drunk. Because you are not.  
  
That’s exactly the sort of thing a drunk person would say, he muses, tilting his head at you. You puff out your cheeks and bury you face in a pillow, once again denying that you were even the slightest bit drunk. He walks around to the front of the couch and suggests that you get to bed, just like Jane did. You complain that you aren’t tired, how on earth are you to sleep? He assures that you’ll fall asleep just fine, come on, get up off the couch. You raise your arms toward him and tell him to carry you, just to see if he will.  
  
To your surprise, he rolls his eyes, or at least you think he does, you can’t really see past his shades but that tiny head motion surely suggests rolled eyes, and he fits his arms beneath you to lift you up. With a laugh you let your arms lay loosely over his shoulders as you tuck your head against the crook of his neck, he smells like oranges. He always smells like oranges. You ask him why he always smells like oranges, to which he shrugs as he carries you to your room. You tell him it’s a nice smell and you can feel the way his chest rumbles with quiet chuckles. He says thanks as he turns down the small hallway, and you nuzzle closer because he’s always warm too, like campfires.  
  
Dirk? You ask as he pushes your door open with his foot. He replies with a hmm? And if you press your cheek close enough you can feel the way his baritone voice vibrates in his throat.  
  
I like it when you visit, you mumble, glasses crooked on your face, and he offers another hum. You trace circles against the top of his shoulder blades and say that you like it when he kisses your neck, too. You lazily place your lips against his neck as if to demonstrate that that is what you mean, that is what you like, because it’s important that he understands you right now. His pulse tickles your lips and you laugh again because it sped up, you made it speed up! He comments that you really are drunk, but you don’t bother correcting him on the fact that you are so very sober right now because you have to tell him something else. You have to tell him that you like him. I like you, Dirk. Like-like you. He only smirks and places you in bed, tugging the covers over you and telling you to try again when you’re not drunk. But you aren’t drunk, you are not drunk and you need him to know that you like him. Otherwise he may never find out because you are always afraid he’ll stop coming to see you. He pats your head and tells you you’re worrying over nothing, he’s not going to stop visiting.  
  
He leaves the room and you call for him to come back, you want him to be near you, don’t leave yet. He returns a few minutes later to place a glass of water and an aspirin on your nightstand, telling you again to go to sleep. He removes your glasses and folds them, placing them next to the painkiller. You pout at him but comply, tucking your arms beneath your pillow to cradle your head, closing your eyes. It isn’t long before you hear the whoosh of him leaving. It also isn’t long before you fall asleep.  
  
The next morning, your thoughts are pounding in your head and the light from the window really could not be any brighter. You groan and pull the covers over your head to block out the sun, reaching out for the pill and the glass of water. You down them both and wipe your mouth, placing the cup back on your nightstand before dropping your face back to the pillows. You hate hangovers. You must have been pretty drunk last night. What even happened? Dirk came over, you think. What else?  
  
Ugh, you don’t want to think about anything right now. It feels like someone has taken a jackhammer to your skull. You’ll remember later probably.  
  
Noon is in full swing by the time you roll out of bed, head still aching but a little better since you took the aspirin. The steam from a shower helps, too, and once you get around to making yourself breakfast you’re pretty functional. You doubt you can even call it breakfast anymore, since it’s nearing one in the afternoon, so you just say it’s breakfast for lunch. People have breakfast for dinner all the time and you doubt it’s all that different in the first place. Besides, do pancakes for lunch even need to be debated on? You think not.  
  
You’re in the middle of pouring batter into the pan when you hear your phone buzzing from the couch, a quick check telling you it’s Dirk again, he wants to come over. You let him know that the coast is clear before returning to monitor your pancakes. The familiar whoosh greets your ears and you hardly have time to offer a greeting before you feel arms loop around your waist from behind and the pressure of his head on the place where your shoulder slants into your neck. You swallow, your heart leaping at his touch.  
  
Hey, he says, how are you feeling? You confess you’ve been better, but you’re not too bad. Thanks for the aspirin, it was you who left that, wasn’t it? You feel the way he nods against your skin. The way his hands are loosely strung together around your hips.  
  
You apologize for anything strange you did last night, you were a half-seas over. Now he’s smirking, I thought you said you weren’t drunk.  
  
You don’t remember half of what you said, honestly, and when he hums in reply the way he often does you daresay he sounds a little disappointed. You flip a pancake. Ask if he wants some. He shrugs. Do you remember anything you said? At all? After a bit of pondering you shake your head. What did I say? You tilt your head towards him, expecting him to tell you something ridiculous. He only shrugs again. You raise an eyebrow, about to prod further, but a small breeze and the whoosh of him disappearing cuts you off, leaving you cold without the warmth of his presence.  
  
That was strange, you think as you slide the pancake onto a plate. Why would he leave after such a brief visit? And without even taking any energy? You are stumped on the matter. As you cook your pancakes, you dwell on it. Had you said something troubling last night? Something wrong? It eats at your mind long after you’ve finished cooking, and you pack away the pancakes you no longer have any intention of eating at the moment. Memories of last night are successful in evading you, and you decide that you’ll ask him about it next time he visits.  
  
A week passes with no sign of Dirk. The marks on your neck fade, but your worry grows. He used to drop by so much, at least once every three days. What happened? Was it something you did? Something you don’t remember? Your stomach turns a little cold when you think about it, and you think about it a lot.  
  
Jade notices when you stop wearing scarves, and she notices that you are a little off. Of course she does, she’s your big sister and she’s always looking out for you. Bad breakup? She asks gently. You confide that you have no idea what’s going on.  
  
You watch another week pass by without a word from him. You decline from joining your cousins and sister at the bar when they invite you, you have a feeling alcohol is what landed you in this mess and you’d prefer to keep away from it for a while.  
  
His jacket stopped smelling like him long ago, and you don’t know why it offers you comfort because its previous owner is the one causing you to go through such turmoil. Still, the dark sleeves remind you of him in his absence. Of how he’s so much warmer than any jacket could ever be. Of how you were always fearful he would grow bored of you, how you were scared that he had.  
  
Soon enough the weeks turn to months and you had all but lost hope of seeing him again. You’d texted him a few times, only to receive silence. It was so jarring, going from touching and talking and touching - god, there was so much touching - to being cut off altogether and it left you confused and hurt. You want to know what you did, why he was doing this to you, why you deserve to be ignored. It keeps you awake at night and you clutch at his jacket because it’s all you have of him.  
  
It crosses your mind that he’s probably fed from other people, and that thought alone stings more than any wound you’ve ever received.  
  
Tonight you’ve pushed all thoughts of him out of your head. You are on a hunt and your full attention is needed. A succubus has been going around town as of late and you kind of need to stop her. You’ve been tracking her for days now and you know exactly when she’ll show up at that street corner. Just past eleven at night, you recite over in your head as you glance at the time on your phone. 10:52. Still a bit of time before she walks onto the scene to charm victims into going to that hotel with her. You frown and continue to watch the spot, looking over anyone who passes in order to be as thorough as possible. And that’s when you see him, walking with his hands tucked in his pockets and his shades on his face and his hair spiked up and suddenly you’re moving. Running from your spot hidden from view and rushing across the street, by some stroke of luck not getting hit by a car as you fly over the pavement. He starts to turn the corner but you’re reaching out. You’re grabbing at his elbow and turning him around to face you, dammit!  
  
He looks at you in surprise, mouth slightly agape before your name leaves his lips like a question and you are so upset that he has dropped you like some old toy, like you weren’t worth an explanation. You ask him where he’s been and he looks away so you ask again and he says he’s been busy. Busy? For three months? He shrugs and you are aware that your face is twisting in anger because he is acting like this wasn’t a big deal, like leaving you in the dark to worry over what you could have possibly done was nothing. You are angry and frustrated and _hurt_ because he thought this was okay and you demand to know what’s going on because you are tired of stressing about it. He is silent and he still hasn’t turned back and it just makes you even more furious that he isn’t looking at you because it’s been months, was whatever happened so bad?  
  
You tell him to spill it, what the fuck did I do? What did I say that night? I can take it back if you want me to. And that’s when he faces you again, says he doesn’t want that, so you tighten your grip on his arm and look him in the eyes through his shades and ask what happened that night. He just goes silent again and you damn near scream because all he has to do is answer a stupid question but then he’s mumbling something and you have to lean in close to hear it.  
  
It’s not what happened, it’s what it made him realize. You have no idea what he means and you tell him to stop being so goddamn shitting cryptic because it’s far from helping. You were always afraid he would do something like this, like he would leave because you just weren’t good enough and he wouldn’t even tell you so. Like you were dirt on the bottom of his shoe and then you remember him saying he wouldn’t do that, he said he wouldn’t when he patted your head. That you were worrying over nothing but obviously it was a very real worry and you are saying this to him a little louder than you should be because he apparently hadn’t heard himself the first time.  
  
You remember telling him you liked it when he came over and when he kissed your neck, that you liked _him_. You remember saying those words, _I like you, Dirk_ , and you are so upset that he could have possibly left after that without even deciding to reject your feelings. Feelings that you are pretty sure were obvious in the first place! Why else would you let him be so near to you and take your energy when he needed it? Why else would you drape your arms around his neck to pull him closer and shiver when you felt his lips on your skin? If you don’t like me then tell me, I’ll never bother you again.  
  
But he’s shaking his head no, it wasn’t you’re doing, it never was. It was him realizing that maybe he felt that way, too, and not knowing how to deal with that. He’s never actually experienced a relationship like that, and he was… He trails off and you urge him to finish his sentence because you deserve an explanation and you are going to get one.  
  
He was frightened. He was scared because it was something he was unfamiliar with and he knew he would fuck it up and he already has before it even had the chance to start. Then he’s apologizing. I’m sorry, he says. For hurting you.  
  
You tell him that he could have talked with you about it, if he didn’t want to be in a relationship then he could have just said so, but he’s shaking his head again, he does want to. He wants to be with you, because he feels the same way. And then you’re pulling him close and wrapping your arms around him and he’s hugging you back and no one has ever held you tighter. You’re surrounded by his warmth and his scent and his arms after what felt like years and you are still upset but you can’t help but feel so glad that it wasn’t something you did wrong. You ask him if he’ll come home with you.  
  
He nods.


	27. Seven Days - Day Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would have more pictures, but tinypic was being a fUCKING DINGUS

Day six is on you before you know it. Jake was insistent on accompanying you on your last few rounds, assuring you that no could see his wings save for you. You don’t mind him tagging along. In fact, after these past few days you find his presence to be a comfort of sorts.  
  
You pack the things you’ll need in a spare cardboard box since you have them lying around. You aren’t really sure how you accumulated so many over time, but they sure are helpful. A few files go in first, then a pair of beats headphones you somehow got Ben Stiller to autograph for you. Next is your maroon jacket, the one with the little heart as a zipper. Last, you place the robotic bunny on top. You were planning to give that to Jane later, but later wasn’t happening for you.  
  
You stick the box in the back seat of your car, making sure it sat snugly in place so it wouldn’t fall over. Jake tucks in his wings to keep them from getting in the way and sits in the passenger seat as you slide in front of the wheel and start the engine. He asks where your first stop will be and you answer back with ‘the bakery’.  
  
After you’ve parked in front of the establishment, you step out and retrieve the bunny from the box. Jake trails along beside you, fluffing his wings because folding them like that was so uncomfortable. You joke and offer to strap him to the top of your car so that he could let his wings sit normally. He laughs and declines in a similar jocular tone, and you find that you really, really like his smile.  
  
When you open the door and walk in, Jane looks up from her place at the counter and beams, greeting you happily. She asks what brings you here, who’s your friend?  
  
You hold up the robotic bunny, you’re here with a present. That’s Jake, by the way. She waves at him and introduces herself. They exchange a few pleasantries before Jane turns her attention back to you.  
  
And who is this adorable little fellow? She motions to the rabbit you’re holding.  
  
Your present. Go ahead and choose a name, you say as you hand it to her. She takes it gently, turning it over in her faintly calloused hands.

She asks what the occasion is, and you tell her to think of it as an early birthday gift. She raises an eyebrow at this, her birthday isn’t for a good few months. You shrug and say that she’ll know why eventually.  
  
Before she can question you on this, you start to give her the demo on how to work the bunny. Go ahead and power him up, you encourage, and she flicks the tiny switch on the back. It jolts to life as Jane gives a surprised gasp. The robot jumps out of her hands to land on the counter, turning to face her and giving a little wave. She smiles, delighted, and waves back.  
  
It can help you out around here, you say, and she’s thanking you sincerely because she’s always wanted an assistant. She thinks she will name him Lil’ Sebastian, and you grin at her Parks and Rec reference. Compliment her choice. She chortles and asks what kind of things it can do. You shrug and tell her just about anything.  
  
Incredible, she smiles. Thank you again. You assure her it’s nothing.  
  
She insists that you take a few cookies before you leave, and you can hardly turn down the offer because she’s thrown in those orange crème ones and they are your weakness. Before you walk out the door, white box of baked goods in hand, she calls to you to visit her again sometime. You offer her a final smirk before waving goodbye and letting the door close behind you.  
  
You and Jake enjoy her cookies on your way to your next location, going back and forth about which one is the best. He is adamant on the classic snickerdoodle, but you aren’t swayed because the orange ones are obviously superior.  
  
The argument follows you into the apple iproducts store, your jacket slung over your shoulder as you scan the place for that familiar bob of blond.  
  
You don’t have to search long because she is bounding up to you, all bright eyes and smiles. Heya Dirk, what brings you to my workplace with your dashing friend? Roxy winks at Jake, who rubs the back of his head, flustered. You toss the jacket over and say that it’s for her. Her expression lights up. Really? I can have it? And when you nod she’s giving you the biggest bear hug you’ve ever had.  
  
Thank you! Now I don’t have to steal it from you all the time. She immediately puts it on and it’s much too big for her but she’s absolutely gleeful and waves around the sleeves that hang far past her hands.

She asks why you’ve decided to give it to her all of a sudden. You just say that she seems to like it a whole lot more than you do, which is a lie because you also adore that jacket. She raises a sculpted eyebrow at you because she knows this too. Is something up? She asks, and for a moment you entertain the idea of telling her you’re dying in a couple days.  
  
You don’t. You shake your head and refrain from clasping your hands together behind your back because Roxy has come to know that this means you’re keeping secrets. Even so, she doesn’t seem to buy it, so you offer her your trademark smirk and tell her that her manager is going to be mad if he finds her slacking off like this. She shrugs and says that you’re probably right. Asks if you need anything else.  
  
You shake your head again and say you ought to get going, you’ve got things to do. She smiles again and tells you goodbye as you leave, shooting Jake another wink before returning to work.  
  
You poke fun at him on your way to your brother’s place. You sure got her attention with your face, you grin. Then he tries to wink at you, but he has to pull a strange face in order to accomplish the feat. You snort at him and he tells you to stop laughing. You realize you probably haven’t laughed this much with anybody else.  
  
He follows you into the elevator after you walk into your brother’s apartment. You tap the button for the top floor, feeling the machine tug you upwards for a solid two minutes. When you walk out, you count the doors until you come to the fifth one on the left, hitting it a few times with your knuckles.  
  
Silence comes from the other side before you hear the chain on the door rattle and see the doorknob twist. Your older brother steps out to greet you. Hey, man. What’s up? Didn’t know you were swinging by.  
  
He offers Jake a nod of acknowledgement, and the angel returns it. You bring up the headphones, dangling from your index finger. You always said you wanted these, right?  
  
His brows raise over the top of his shades and you can tell his eyes are widening. You give them to him with a grin and he holds them in his hands like he’s been entrusted with the queen’s crown.  
  
What are you forking these over for? He asks, mildly incredulous. You tell him it’s high time you stop being a dick about having them, and he shrugs with a nod. Thanks, he says, bringing them up to hang around his neck. Was that all you came by to do?  
  
Yeah, you say, taking a step back. Bye, Dave, you say with a wave. He gives you a casual two-fingered salute, about to close the door when you call for him to wait. You have one more thing.  
  
He looks at you in question, and you walk forward to give him a hug. A ‘whoa’ leaves his lips, but then he’s returning the gesture. What’s happening that calls for the most heartfelt brohug you’ve ever dished? You are silent as you pull away. No reason.  
  
Just itchin’ for a tender brotherly embrace, huh? You both smirk, and you offer him another ‘bye’ before you walk down the hall again, Jake at your side. He’s remarking that he wasn’t expecting the two of you to be so similar. Especially in the looks department. You shrug and say you have a lot of differences as well.  
  
On the way to your last stop, you both finish the cookies that Jane had given you, agreeing that she was indeed an excellent cook.  
  
Soon enough, you’re walking up to the garage of an auto mechanics shop, calling inside at the form bent over the popped hood of a car. He looks up at you, adjusting his cracked sunglasses with a wrench in his hand. He sets down the tool and walks over, wiping his face on the towel draped around his neck.  
  
Hello. It is odd to see you here, I was under the impression that you could repair your locomotives without help. Equius towers over you, a hulking mass of muscle, but you’re hardly intimidated. You have a favor for him, actually.  
  
You hold out the files and explain that you’ve built a robot who may or may not need adjustments in the future. He gives you a strange look, why are you giving this to him?  
  
Just in case, you say. He takes hold of them and opens the folder, looking over the blueprints. Says he’ll perform to the best of his ability if the need arises.  
  
You thank him and he nods before retreating back into the garage, leaving the scent of oil and sweat. You turn to Jake and inform him that you’ve completed your rounds, and the two of you return to the car to ride home in comfortable conversation.  
  
When you get back into your apartment, your shades ping at you.  
  
Aren’t you just motherfucking Oprah today? Hal says, and you grin because you’ve got a surprise for him, too.  
  
Oh boy, he types, and you can feel the sarcasm in his red text. Is it a party? Because I can totally get down.  
  
You shake your head and say that it’s better than a party. He keeps trying to guess what you have in store for him as you gesture for Jake to follow you. Hal’s text continues to slant across your vision until you walk into your workroom, where your completed project lays on the table. Then only one phrase takes up your sight.  
  
Holy shit.  
  
You nod, a smirk on your face.  
  
That’s.  
  
For me?  
  
You nod again and retrieve the cables, thinner than most other wires, and plug him up to the body of the robot. A loading symbol spins on your shades as you take a seat and watch, your leg bouncing subconsciously. If Jake finds it odd that you were just talking to a pair of sunglasses, he doesn’t say anything. Just sits on the edge of his own chair, watching with rapt attention.  
  
Your heart rate increases a bit and you swallow down nerves. What if it doesn’t work? You definitely wouldn’t have time to fix it. You exhale as the loading icon continues to spin, transmitting the colossal program that is Hal. Your leg keeps bouncing as you wait, and after a bit you feel Jake’s hand on your shoulder. He smiles at you in a reassurance that things will be fine, and you find that it quells some of your worries.  
  
It takes nearly five minutes for it all to transfer, but the eyes finally blink open, a shade of red you took from his words. He sits up to look at you, then to his hands, opening and closing them as if he could hardly grasp the fact that this was real. That you finally kept your promise to build him a body. And then he’s grinning, staring at the palms of his hands and laughing because he never thought you’d actually do it. He is completely ecstatic that he can finally _move_ and you find yourself grinning along, asking what he thinks. Hal turns to swing his legs off the table, standing cautiously, and the first thing he does when he gets his bearings is wrap his arms around you. Another hug for the pile, he says, and you have no qualms hugging back.  
  
Thanks, and his voice is little above a whisper. No problem, you reply.  
  
Unlike everyone else, Hal knows you’re dying. It’s hard for him not to know, seeing as he was on your face at the time you got nailed by a speeding car. It just makes it easier to hand over everything you own since you don’t need to explain why. Just because you’re kicking the bucket doesn’t mean Hal needs the short end of the stick, too.  
  
You talk to him and Jake for hours, feeling strangely at peace with the fact that your life is ending soon. It's strange, you had been so uneasy about it not all that long ago. You suppose giving your friends a final goodbye was what sort of made you come to terms with it. Jake was also a big contributor, letting you know that things would be okay when you needed it most.  
  
As much as you would like to stay up and talk with them, the fatigue that had been steadily getting worse is now rather hard to ignore, seeing as you nearly dozed off in the middle of your conversation, so you’ll have to throw in the towel for tonight, worry free now that you’ve taken care of everything you wanted to.  
  
Before you curl up in your bed, you ask Jake if he misses his island. A melancholy smile answers you. He does, very much so. It’s home, no?  
  
You ask if tomorrow he’ll take you to see it. He looks surprised at your request, but then he breaks into that huge crooked grin you’ve come to admire so much. Of course, he says. He’ll definitely take you.


	28. With the Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU where Jake is a sprite bound to the rain

The sky had clouded over about half an hour ago. The weather report guaranteed rain showers leading into the afternoon and on until morning. You press your face against the glass of your window, staring up at the grays and whites of the oncoming storm. Rain means only one thing for you.

  
  
It started the day he first saw you, hardly a jacket on your back as you sat on the rooftop of your apartment overlooking the cityscape. The rain had darkened the pavement below, water gushing down the sides of the busy streets and yet more still dripped down, the blue showing no sign of stealing the sky back. You were content to watch the rain fall, drenching your skin in the forgiving coolness of summer. That’s when he decided to join you, effectively pushing you out of your trance with green eyes that gleamed the way the sun shown on dewdrops.  
  
He came with the rain.  
  
Mist wells up along the streets far below you, people hurrying along the sidewalks in an effort to get out of the weather before it happened. They were but little blurs of color this far up, obscured by the fog settling over the road, chasing taxis. Headlights dim, but their brightness still seems to resonate in the thickening haze. All you want is for the clouds to let the drops fall. To be able to see him again.  
  
You remember the things he’s said to you, the way his voice reminds you of swaying rivers. Tranquil smiles, bright smiles. He’s everything from sprinkling to pouring to fractals of lightning. Ripples along the glass. Splashes on the concrete.  
  
You remember the way his eyes pinch in happiness. The way his mouth curves. The way his skin feels beneath your fingers. The way his lips feel against your own. Soft, like the rain. Sweet. Everything about him is like the rain.  
  
You remember his words, quiet. Like that familiar soothing shush.  
  
_You are so much better than anything I could have ever hoped for._  
  
Your fingers curl against the window. The glass is a biting kind of cold. It spreads to your hands, caught somewhere between your body’s warmth and the chilled weather.  
  
You hope this isn’t another hoax from the weather report. With your hopes climbing so high and yet nary a drop of rain to show for it. The disappointment of those days weighs on your chest heavily, and often times you’d keep your place by the window as you saw the clouds away. You’re glad they are still hanging near the top of the skyscrapers, dangling just out of reach. You ache to see him again.  
  
Your apartment is silent. Empty, save for you. The only noises come from the streets below, distant echoes of car horns and rolling tires. The first touch of rain plinks against your window and your heart quickens. You move to touch your fingers against the spot, looking up to the sky again. It’s gotten darker. A second drop joins the other and you trace over that one, too. The palms of your hands make the glass fog over. You wipe it away with your sleeve.  
  
A third raindrop, shushed and small. And then they keep coming, so many you could never count them all, speckling your window and sluicing down the glass. It patters against the roof. That familiar soothing shush. Played like timid chimes.  
  
And then he’s there, at your windowsill, green eyes framed by dark lashes and thick frames. Your fingers flip the lock and raise the window, the sound of rainfall suddenly clear. He’s reaching for you, hands dripping as they brush gently over your cheeks. He smiles as he says hello. You lean forward to touch your lips against his. You've sorely missed that feeling. When you pull away he laughs, the quiet way water whispers over rocks. Then he’s kissing you again and you’re tugging him inside, not bothering to close the window. You could care less if your things got wet. You aren’t keen on giving anything other than him your attention because you know that everything about him is like the rain. You know as he tangles his fingers through you hair, as you sit on the edge of your bed and he crawls into your lap.

  
  
You know that he comes with the rain.  
  
And you know that he leaves with it, too.


	29. Seven Days - Day Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slaps on hardhat*

You roll out of bed early the morning of your seventh day. After a quick shower, you find Jake curled up and napping on your couch, one wing draped over the side and the other stretched over your coffee table. You remember when he first came to your apartment, and you hoped he wouldn’t molt feathers everywhere.  
  
There are feathers fucking everywhere.  
  
You don’t mind as much as you thought you would.  
  
In the kitchen, you pour yourself a glass of orange juice and opt to let Jake wake up on his own time. The city below you is peacefully quiet, the sky a brilliant glittering shade of pink in the eve of the sun. You figure you’ll drink in the sight one last time while you wait for him to stir. Wonder if you’ll be able to come and see it ever again. The thought makes your heart clench a bit. You understand how Jake feels. Home will always be a special place.  
  
It’s not long after you down the juice that Jake shifts on your couch. Pushes himself up on his elbows and rubs at his eyes with the heels of his palms.  
  
Morning, you greet. He turns to you, blinking the sleep away as he returns a quiet ‘good morning’. You ask if he wants to take a shower before the two of you head off. He nods and sits up, picking his glasses up from the table and slipping them on. After you fetch him a towel, he retreats into the bathroom and you can hear the water running, splashing against the floor.  
  
Hal joins you while you sit looking over the cityscape. Leaving soon? He asks. You nod.  
  
Do you think you’ll be alright? You inquire.  
  
He nods. Turns to meet your eyes. Do you think _you’ll_ be alright?  
  
You shrug.  
  
It’s not gonna be the same without you around to pester, he smirks. You return the expression and sarcastically express your sorrows for him. The sentiment isn’t lost on you.  
  
How do you like your body?  
  
He looks at his knees and swings his legs. It’s perfect, he grins.  
  
You’re glad.  
  
Jake comes out of the bathroom rubbing his dripping hair with a towel, looking much more awake than before. He combs his fingers through his hair and shakes it out, content to let it air-dry as he wipes the droplets from his wings.  
  
Ready to take off? He smiles. You stand and offer an affirmative. Hal gives you a goodbye. You tell him not to break too many laws in your absence. He laughs and makes no promises. Fist bumps you. Thanks again. You nod.  
  
Jake tells you to hold on tight again, so you slip your arms around his neck the way you did when he first came to find you in the hospital. You feel his hands tugging you close before that familiar weightlessness takes over and sweeps you away from solid ground. Colors flash past your eyes, the wind whistling in your ears. It’s taking a little longer than before, most likely because a distant uncharted island is much farther away than your apartment was from the hospital, so you let your head rest against the crook of his neck and watch the world pass you by.  
  
Then there’s earth beneath your shoes again, and when you pull away you’re surrounded by a thriving jungle of vibrant greens. Vines twist along the ground, pumpkins looking a little out of place as they swell largely in the sunlight streaming through the trees. Jake is looking around in wonder, the way someone would look when they hear a song they loved ages ago. He walks over to a pumpkin, his wings dragging over the leaves as they rustle under his weight.  
  
He remembers these, he’s happy to see they’re still as unmanageable as ever. Prizewinners if he ever lived in a community society. You stand next to him and remark that they certainly are gorgeous gorges. He covers his mouth as he laughs at you. But then he’s looking ahead at a strangely spherical structure on an enormous pedestal, giving a little gasp as his eyes light up and he takes hold of your hand, tugging you with him.  
  
That’s where he used to live, he points, and you are bounding along beside him as he excitedly runs up and opens the door. He has to knock away a few vines and push at it a little harder than normal, but it gives with a cough of dust. He squints inside before taking a step and pushing the door open wider, letting the light flood in and illuminate the layers of dust blanketing the floor. Jake ventures in further and you trail behind him as he steps nearly blindly down the dark hallway. When he finds the end, he reaches over and tries the light switch. A hum can be heard before the lightbulb above flickers on, the yellow light a little dim.  
  
A staircase spirals upwards, thick vines curling around the steps as they creep along. You follow him up, being careful not to fall off as the staircase has no banister. He pushes open another door and flips another light switch, and you can see the way his cheeks raise in a grin from behind.  
  
Jake is practically bouncing in place as he gestures for you to come in. Inside, plastered all over the walls are movie posters, slightly faded with age. This is his room, he chirps.  
  
That’s his old bed, his old computer, his old pile of guns. His wings fluff up a little in joy and he’s smiling enough to part the seas. You’re glad you suggested to come here.  
  
He walks over to a large chest and swipes a hand over the dust on the top, wiping the residue away on his pants. His hands reach to undo the clasps, lifting the lid on creaky hinges. You look over the joint of his wings as he reaches in and pulls out a gleaming machete. He remembers this, too. He sheaths it and ties it to the loop on his waist, saying he has an idea. Come on, you just _have_ to see the rest of the island!  
  
You follow him as he leads you down the stairs and along what was once probably a path, but is now overrun by plants tangling together in a crisscross of roots. Make sure not to touch that one, he says as he points to a clump of purple leaves on a vine. It stings, he explains. You take his word for it and stay away.  He could probably heal you right up if you did touch it, but you’d just rather not experience that.  
  
As you walk with him, he tells you all kinds of little stories. He tried to eat that plant when he was little. It wasn’t poisonous or anything, it just tasted really bad. Oh, that’s the humungous tree that fell over when it was struck by lightning! He used to climb on it all the time, but now it looks like decay has gotten the better of it. Look at those neat mushrooms, though.  
  
He takes you to the shoreline, walking up to a coconut palm and flapping his wings a few good times before they carry him to the top. The drupes are a greenish-yellow, the kind you see on drink containers in stores. Jake unsheathes his machete and cuts at the bunches, collecting two before flying back down.  
  
Soon enough, he’s hacked the tops of them off in a show that he assures you he is quite practiced at, he’s not going to accidentally hit his hand with the machete. The juice in the coconut is warm from the sun’s heat as you sip at it, Jake walking you to the next place as he continues to relay stories of when he lived here.  
  
That’s the first tree he ever fell off of. He had the nastiest bruise for a good five days! It was nearly black! During that time he was convinced that the ground there was made of adamantium or something. And that’s the place where that blasted spider nabbed me. Doesn’t look like my skeleton’s there anymore, though. Wonder where that got off to.  
  
You ask if the spider would be around anymore, to which he shrugs and says that she might be. It’s only been about five years, so it’s likely. He’ll try to stray away from her territory, but if she crosses their path then he can certainly take her in a grisly round now!  
  
Angelic power-up? You smirk. He nods, exactly.  
  
Your hike leads you to a clearing, and farther down, the land gives into the water’s shimmering aqua blues. Rising up from the middle of the calm waters stood a magnificent tower, a grand stone frog perched atop the structure. Floating in the water were massive lily pads, petals of the flowers pointy and pink. He tells you he would love to take you to explore it, but he’s pretty sure somethings lurking beneath the surface of those glistening waves. Best not to provoke it.  
  
You don’t mind. You are content with staring at its grandness and sipping at your coconut. Fucking sweet, you tell him. He grins.  
  
He gives you the platinum tour of his island. You walk along the edge of the volcano, Jake making sure you don’t fall in by looping his arm with yours. You wouldn’t have fallen in in the first place, but you aren’t about to tell him that. Afterwards, he shows you the spot he used to go cliff diving, however you refrain from taking the plunge because you’re certain Jake has so much more to show you. He takes you to the top of a rather steep mountain, partly because he had never actually been up there himself. These wings are truly nifty, he tells you proudly. You get to share the experience together this time, and you are not disappointed in the slightest. While Jake _did_ call it Hellmurder Island, even he couldn’t deny that it was quite scenic.  
  
He tells you about it all, from the strange creatures that didn’t seem to inhabit any other corner of the earth to the vibrantly colored fruits that were like candy, they were so sweet. He shares a few with you, and you can hardly begin to name them since you’ve never seen anything like them.  
  
By the time you get through everything he wanted you to see, the sun is dipping low in the sky and you’ve only got a few more hours left. When Jake asks what you want to do, you suggest a movie, since every other possibility had already been done. That’s when he slaps his hands over his cheeks and gives a shout of ‘sweet margarine!’ because he cannot believe he forgot about his movie place.  
  
You jog with him back to his house where he retrieves a blanket and a projector, asking if you could grab a movie and a white sheet. You pluck a movie from his rather overwhelming collection as well as the sheet he asked of you and then he’s calling for you to follow him again, leading you out and to one of the largest trees you’ve ever seen in your life. He pulls you up to the branches and sets the projector in place, taking the sheet and hanging it from the branches, making sure it lays flat.  
  
The next thing you know, you’re sitting on the blanket next to him watching what has to be the worst film you’ve ever seen, but you don’t think you would ever choose to spend your time a different way. The movie reflects off his glasses and he just looks so happy, nestled up here in a tree with the canopy swaying gently overhead and the stars beginning to peak into the sky. The night air retains the heat of day just enough to be relaxing, and the warm breeze soothes over your skin in a way that makes you slightly drowsy, but you push off any thought of sleep because you want to be awake for this. For the way his dimples show when he laughs at some corny joke and the way his hand brushes yours every so often when he shifts in his spot. The way he glances at you and smiles. The way your heart skips a beat each time. There’s nowhere you’d rather be but here.

  
  
Inevitably, the movie comes to an overdramatic ending, and as the credits roll up the screen, the soundtrack playing boisterously, Jake informs you that there are only a few minutes left before you have to go. You hum in reply and stare skyward, the stars now out and brilliant and twinkling in ways they never could in the city. He asks if you’ve had a good time. You reply with a ‘yeah’ and thank him for showing you his island. He smiles and says it was his pleasure. Really, he’s had a blast with you. The day has been nothing short of spectacular.  
  
There’s one more thing you’ve kind of been wanting to do for a while now.  
  
Care if I touch your wings? You request, tilting your head to the side. He shrugs and says he doesn’t mind a bit before extending the feathered limb to you. Cautiously, you hold out a hand to ghost over it, and it’s so much softer than you thought it would be. You tell him so, and he grins with a prideful ‘thanks’. Your fingers trace over individual feathers as he watches your rather dazzled state, because holy shit they are what clouds spliced with velvet would feel like. He chuckles at your antics and allows you to continue feeling them until he announces that it really is time to depart now.  
  
He helps you stand and holds a hand out in front of him. You watch as the air around it bends, as if you were looking at the world through a wall of still water. He takes a step toward it and gestures for you to come along with a reassuring smile. It will be okay, you think, and you follow as he steps through the distorted point in space.  
  
Suddenly, you’re washed over in glowing light, the warmth something akin to compassion. Jake is still there, saying that there’s still a bit of a trek to go. You shuffle next to him as he guides you through the place that seems to be held together only by the knots of light itself, as nothing else occupies the area.  
  
It’s so calm here. Serene. You feel like nothing could ever hurt you, that nothing was ever wrong. The farther you walk, the brighter the light gets, golden and white and tranquil. Jake informs you that it’s only a little ways away now.  
  
Will I see you again? In heaven?  
  
He smiles at you, the way that makes your chest grow warm, and confirms that he’ll be sure to come and see you whenever he can. You nearly smile yourself.  
  
He slows to a stop where the light shines brightest, asks if you’re ready. You nod, and he’s holding out his hand again, this time for you to take. You move to place your hand in his, but then something closes on the back of the collar of your shirt. A claw. You see how his face turns from calm to shock. Disbelief. And then you’re being yanked backwards, more claws closing around your legs and pulling you away. Pulling you down. Jake is shouting to you, reaching out in a desperate attempt to grab you back. You stretch out your hand, feeling yourself being pulled farther, and the last thing you see before everything goes black is your own hand straining for Jake’s as demons wrench you away from heaven and jerk you downwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jake opens the coconut like this [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Xv-E8lylZ4)  
> Stay tuned, we aren't done yet :)


	30. Cops

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The POV switches back and forth from Dirk to Jake here, signified by each line break

Your name is Dirk Strider and you are a police officer of the highest caliber. That is to say, you’re pretty much an ordinary cop. You do, however, hold cops who abuse their power to a rather venomous contempt, but that is not what is on your mind at the moment.   
  
Your partner, Roxy, is typing up a false profile for you, one that makes your eyes roll when you go to proofread it since she’s a bit prone to typo mistakes.   
  
Things along the lines of ‘hot male blond’, ‘massive cock’, and ‘You got the cash then we can bash’ make you want to bury your face in your hands, ears tinged pink. You take out the part about cash, which she complains about since it was pure gold, and change it to a more subtle ‘fun for the right price’. As if to get back at you, she adds a winky emoji at the end and laughs boisterously before posting it on the shady site.   
  
You are a cop going undercover as a prostitute. You are curious to see how this turns out. 

* * *

Your name is Jake English and you have just read over a post on a questionable website about a male prostitute. Your partner, Jane, says that you should be the one to handle this one. She took care of the last one, it’s only fair!   
  
You read over the location of where to find him, a hotel near the edge of your district, as you agree to take this case.   
  
You are a cop going undercover to solicit a prostitute. You are glad that you’ll have a backup team accompanying you.

* * *

Roxy helped you pick out clothes for this earlier, so you sit on the couch in the small hotel room as she attaches the tiny transmitter to the back of your collar. The shirt you’re wearing dips down into a rather low V-neck and your black jeans hug your form tightly. Roxy informs you that the person running the shop you got them from stopped to stare at your ass when you tried them on.   
  
She stands on the other side of the room and talks normally, asking if the team down the hall could hear her alright. She receives a message on her phone saying that they could hear her fine through the transmitter.   
  
Afterwards, you set to work putting hidden cameras in place. 

* * *

You and Jane arrange to go to the hotel with the rest of your backup at nine at night. On the car ride there, Jane helps you click the tiny camera onto your glasses, as well as the little microphone so that they could hear what was going on and bust in once an agreement of transaction was made.   
  
You test them out, and Sollux informs you that everything is fully functional. You feel like a secret agent, and in a way, you guess you kind of are? But not really.

* * *

You situate yourself in the room. Roxy has left you alone now, but you know that she’s watching through the cameras you two set up earlier with everyone else. It’s a little calming knowing she’s got your back, since to be honest you can’t help but feel a little nervous about this whole conundrum. You shuffle your legs as you sit on the couch, hands beneath your thighs. Someone’s bound to show up soon. 

* * *

You quietly whisper to your glasses that you’re walking down the hallway of the hotel, approaching the room. You get back another affirmation that your gadgets are in working condition, and you breathe a sigh before slowing to a stop in front of the door. You raise your hand and knock three times against it with your knuckles. No going back, now.

  
  
The door opens after a few seconds revealing a man that couldn’t be any older than yourself with spiked blond hair and strange triangular shades. He invites you inside, and the door closes behind you. His shirt is teasing, neckline too low but at the same time not nearly low enough. Your eyes flick over him purely for enforcing your façade as a customer and no other reason whatsoever. None at all.   
  
He smirks at you. Asks if you like what you see. He must have caught you staring.   
  
You reply that he appears to live up to his profile, and you see a flash of humor on his face. 

* * *

When you answered the door, you weren’t really expecting someone like him. You anticipated sleazy older men or who at least _looked_ lecherous. Not this guy, with nerdy glasses and a face you found rather appealing. He seems to find you appealing as well, if the way he tries to hide the way he looks at you is anything to go by.   
  
You exchange what you guess are pleasantries before you decide to actually get down to business.   
  
Tell me what you like, you request in a low voice as you lean against the wall. 

* * *

Shit, you don’t have an answer prepared. Your mind is drawing up blanks. Gosh, you’ve done this before, you should be prepared! What’s so different now? Is it the sultry way he’s smirking at you? The way it leaves you feeling a little hot under the collar? You think it might be.   
  
Luckily, your mouth takes over for your brain, and you tell him that you’re only looking for casual sex. He nods and asks about the payment.   
  
You suggest eighty dollars, and he appears to mull it over before agreeing. He says he doesn’t work without a condom, and you don’t blame him. You tell him you’ve got the money in your wallet.   
  
Your team should be here any second now that you’ve come to a business agreement.

* * *

He reaches into his pocket to grab what you assume is his wallet, so you mirror the motion as if you were taking out a condom, but really you’re reaching for your police badge. Your backup is supposed to be marching down the hall to bust in and take him into custody right now, and you feel a little triumphant in knowing that you’re about to catch him red-handed.   
  
He takes out his wallet at the same time you take out your badge, showing it to him and about to reveal the truth, but you find that his wallet is not a wallet at all. It’s another police badge. One from the district next to yours, if your memory serves you correctly. The moments that follow the big reveal are silent, since you weren’t expecting this and obviously neither was he. 

* * *

Well would you look at that. He’s not a prostitute at all. He’s of the same occupation as you, actually. You look from him to his badge to your badge and back again, and he stares back in what you can only assume is awe. You honestly find the situation laughable, and you raise your other hand to cover your mouth as you snicker quietly.   
  
This is a train wreck, he says as he rubs at his eyes beneath his shades. You agree, especially when he bites his lip to keep from laughing as well.   
  
For goodness sakes, where is your team? But then you hear muffled guffawing outside the door.   
  
Roxy, the blond mutters fondly before moving past you to open it. Outside, your team is waiting with another, everyone looking on the brink of cracking up.   
  
Dirk, says a blond woman, giggling. He’s a cop, too. The man, apparently Dirk, nods. He figured it out, he says.  
  
Jane stands next to her, smiling at you. Quite a twist of events, huh? She asks. You nod as you pocket your badge.

* * *

Roxy walks over to introduce herself to the man, and you overhear that his name is Jake. A brunette makes her way to you and smiles. Says her name is Jane. You tell her yours as you return your police badge to its place in your pocket.  
  
She apologizes for this mix-up, to which you also apologize for taking up their time. She nods before leaving to speak to Roxy, evidently to meet her as well.   
  
Equius appears to have made a friend, a petite woman with olive eyes from Jake’s team. Aradia is talking with someone as well, a bony man wearing 3-D glasses. You feel as if you should be making conversation too, and Jake looks idle enough.

* * *

Dirk walks over to you and greets you. His demeanor is a lot less suggestive now, however that shirt is still very low and distracting. You greet him back and successfully keep yourself from staring this time.   
  
You compliment him on his act. He makes for a very convincing prostitute! He says he’s not sure if that’s a good thing or not. You chuckle and assure him you meant it with positive connotations. He grins and thanks you, saying he couldn’t see through your act either. A little strange to see someone like you come in, though.   
  
You blink and ask why. He says you look a little too innocent for something like this. A little too young.   
  
You argue that you’re about the same age as him. How old are you in the first place? He responds that he’s 24. See? You point out. You are also 24.  
  
He shrugs and continues to talk with you in the midst of your teammates becoming buds. Roxy and Jane seem to have hit it off rather nicely, as did that muscular fellow and Nepeta.  
  
You talk about the odds that something like this would happen, they’ve got to be pretty low. About how you both rather dislike the cops that use their power to terrorize civilians. It somehow leads to just where he got those clothes, and then your plans for this Saturday.   
  
By the time you leave, you’ve got a phone number scrawled on your arm, and he’s got one on his.

 


	31. Sketch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)

Your pencil glides across your sketchbook softly, fluid marks in light graphite. It’s taken you about ten minutes, and the picture is starting to take shape rather nicely now that you’ve gotten the sketch laid out. You glance up at the man sitting across the room, right next to the bookshelf and the plush couch. He takes a sip of his coffee. Turns back to the laptop to keep typing.  
  
Rats, he shifted a little. You press an eraser to the paper and do away with a certain angle to his arm, redrawing it to fit the present accordingly. That’s better, you think, as you sneak another look at him. The creases on his shirt fold that way, and you move the point of your pencil so. His hair might be a little tricky, how should you go about that? You’ll sit on it for now and come back to that later.  
  
A waitress asks if you’d like your coffee refilled, to which you reply with a ‘yes, please,’ and a ‘thank you, ma’am,’ when she’s done. She smiles and offers to get you anything else. You tell her that you’re fine, thank you again. Then she’s off to another table with the contents of her coffee pot swishing. You pour a bit of creamer and sugar into the cup, watching as it clouds into a lighter brown. You’ve always wanted to capture that in a drawing since you find it serenely beautiful, but the coffee never stays curled with the cream for long before it mixes entirely.  
  
However, you have a rather beautiful subject that doesn’t seem to be moving so much right now, and you would like to capture his image before that changes. You return to drawing the straight lines for his strange shades. Who even wears triangular shades? This guy, apparently. You take a sip of your coffee.

  
  
You darken the lines around his neck, erasing the sketchy bits, and move on to the collar of his shirt. Maybe you should try his hair now? Here goes, all in for the first spike. And then you’ve drawn the rest of his hair, and you’re overwhelmed in feeling that that was a lot easier than you thought it would be. You guess he just puts you into that state where drawing comes as simply as breathing. You smile, it’s hard to reach that. You move to work on his arms, his elbows propped against the surface as he types. He takes another sip of his coffee.  
  
You wish you could see the part of his face obscured by sunglasses. Why was he wearing them indoors anyway? Maybe he’s sensitive to the light. You shrug it off and continue to pick out lines in the midst of flyaway strokes, erasing what you no longer needed as guidelines. You discreetly peak at him again, adjusting your glasses from the place they’ve slid down your nose. Did he shift his feet or did you draw them incorrectly? You reposition them in your picture.  
  
You draw the lines of shadow beneath the table, shading over his legs with the utmost care. The drawing is coming along quite well, one of the best you’ve drawn in a while. You take a moment to admire your work so far before moving to finalize his jawline, smoothly curving into an ear that tucks back a lock of flaxen hair.  
  
The waitress walks over to the man and refills his coffee for him. You can see them talking, but most of his body is blocked from view by her figure. Silently, you hope she’ll leave soon. You pick up your coffee cup and raise it to your lips, noticing that the spoon you used to stir it had dripped a bit of liquid on the small plate, leaving a semi-transparent puddle along the sides. The steam fogs up your glasses as you sip from the cup, and you remove them after you set the coffee down. Wipe them on the bottom of your shirt.  
  
When you replace them on your face and look back to the table where the man was sitting at, he isn’t there anymore. Your eyebrows furrow in disappointment. You weren’t yet done. But his laptop is still sitting there, open and on. Perhaps he went to the bathroom? You hope he returns to the same position when he comes back.  
  
You hear a voice speak from behind your chair. So you _were_ drawing me. You jolt a bit and turn your head. He’s standing next to you, looking over your shoulder at the sketch. You sputter an apology and move to cover your drawing with your hands, embarrassed. This is probably really creepy, huh? You can get rid of it if he wants you to.  
  
He shakes his head and reaches to remove your hands from it. His palms are warm, the way coffee feels through your cup. It looks awesome, he praises, and when he’s this close you can just barely make out the outlines of his eyes.  
  
You ask him what tipped you off. You thought you were being pretty low key about it. He informs you that it was the waitress who told him as she poured his drink.  
  
You could have told me you were trying to draw me, I would have sat still. He asks if it was a pain to draw him.  
  
Not really, you find yourself relaying. Except for now, since you hadn’t completed it before he walked over.  
  
Sorry, he says. I can come over to your table to sit and you can draw me like that if you want.  
  
You brighten at this suggestion and ask if that would really be alright with him. He nods and you smile, say that that would just be the cat’s pajamas! He chuckles softly before turning to retrieve his things from his table and setting them on yours, taking a seat across from you.  
  
You flip to a new page in your sketchbook.


	32. Seven Days - Raising Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is folks

Bruises greet you when you ease into consciousness, sprawled on the floor of what looks like some kind of metal cage. It’s cold beneath your skin, even though you have a feeling you’ve been lying here for a while.  
  
The air is uncomfortably thick, and you struggle to get a full breath. Your limbs are sore, but when you try to move them, you find they’ve been bound by coarse rope. Everything is dark, the way it is just before your eyes adjust to dimness, but you don’t think this is something that can be adapted to.  
  
You breathe out a hushed groan, rolling onto your side. Your arms are tied behind you and the bones in your elbow dig into the floor painfully. You try to wiggle your wrists around in an effort to loosen the bindings, but the rough rope only ends up scratching into your skin. You struggle in them more, pulling and writhing until you can feel blood’s strange mixture of warmth and cool drip down your hands. Gritting your teeth through the sting, you give a final tug, however all you are doing is making a mess of your skin. Begrudgingly, you still, and crane your neck to get a better look around.  
  
All you can see is the cage. It seems as though there is a covering over it, and you haven’t the slightest idea why.  
  
The muffled sound of shuffling drifts to your ears and you twist to hear it better. Voices, quiet, distorted by distance, begin making themselves known. They steadily grow louder into a dull hum, and your stomach grows cold just thinking about just how many people there are and how you are defenseless.  
  
Fuck, where are you? You exhale steadily, flinching at the way your chest smarts. You remember being with Jake on his island, in that place of light, and then… dragged down.  
  
Son of a bitch, are you in hell? You are going to be so pissed. Except you are actually kind of on edge right now, and goosebumps prickle up your arms as you try to find a position that doesn’t hurt. Everything fucking hurts, though.  
  
You roll onto your stomach to avoid crushing more limbs beneath you, trying to listen to the murmur of voices. You can’t pick out any one conversation, they’re all blending together, indecipherable. Nothing to clue you in on where you are.  
  
Your little tantrum from earlier has only made things worse, and your wrists twinge with every movement. Blood is starting to dry, leaving it feeling sticky and disgusting, caking your wrists in a cracking film.  
  
That’s when the lights cut on, you can tell by the way heavy brightness seeps beneath the curtain and bleeds through the fabric covering your cage. The voices quiet into a whispering lull as you hear clunking footsteps.  
  
A man’s voice speaks out, welcoming the crowd. All the seats are taken, what a great turn-out. How is everyone this evening?  
  
He walks past your cage, you can see the way the light is blocked by his legs when he moves in front of you. Your arms itch to struggle again.  
  
We have quite a few fine selections here tonight. I’m just as excited as you are!  
  
The crowd murmurs its approval, and the man laughs into the microphone before walking back the way he came, to the other side of what you believe is a stage.  
  
Let’s start with the first specimen, shall we?  
  
You hear the sound of a curtain being pulled back, and the people calling out in delight. The announcer introduces the first one.  
  
This man liked to steal people off the street. He didn’t care about age or gender, and every single one he murdered for some imaginary occult to the dark lord Satan. No one told him Satan’s make-believe! You all know the drill by now, up to four people who offer the highest bid get a piece! Let’s get right into the auction, then.  
  
The crowd erupts in shouts, and this time you can hear numbers being spat about. One, two, three hundred.  
  
Four hundred? We have a four hundred, four twenty-five? Four fifty over in the corner there! Four fifty? Going for four fifty? Final offer at four fifty? Sold at four fifty! Now how many can pay up that amount? Three? Room for one more bidder, last call, folks! Three people, then! Come around back after the auction and we’ll cut him up between you!  
  
Cut him up? Surely they can’t mean that…?  
  
Before you can dwell on it, the man moves on, and you hear another curtain being ripped away.  
  
A man in his late thirties, shot dead when he was on a shooting spree at an elementary school! Truly a despicable being, but who are we to talk, hmm?  
  
The crowd laughs.  
  
His soul should be bitter and hard to chew, I’ve heard that’s popular among our older patrons. Of course, everyone else is encouraged to try as well! Let’s begin!  
  
Numbers are tossed about again, frantic with gluttony. The bids raise to three seventy-five before it’s called, and four people claim part of his soul as their own.  
  
Alright, this one’s going to be cut up into four pieces! Reminder that the slaughter room’s occupancy load is fifty people max, so get there quick if you want to watch!  
  
Alright, so they actually mean it. You are in the deepest shit.  
  
He moves on to the next person, a woman who tortured her animals to death. Never convicted for it while she was alive, and she’s sure to retain that sour taste from her sadistic glee. She goes for five hundred, split among three people.  
  
Another curtain is pulled back, the one next to yours. This young lady found entertainment in selling drugs laced with poison. I’m willing to bet her soul is that delightful spicy kind, how about you guys?  
  
She is sold for four twenty-five, soul bound to be split into four pieces.  
  
And then you hear the footsteps by your cage, looks like you’re next. Ice creeps through your blood and your breathing picks up before you can help it.  
  
We have a bit of a special one here tonight, saved him for last, see.  
  
He tears back the curtains, and you are momentarily blinded by the sudden light. When you regain your sight, you see the crowd, stretching far back across the room and up the sides, crawling with jeering faces alight with excitement as they stare at you.  
  
This young gentleman died saving someone, and his death was deemed heroic by heaven. He’s been in close contact with an angel, and he’s come so close to heaven that I would be surprised if he didn’t taste like it, too. We were able to snag him before he crossed over, though. Too bad for him, he was so close! Let’s start the bidding, I know everyone wants a little slice of heaven!  
  
The crowd screams out numbers, five hundred, six hundred. The man speaks over all of them, announcing the rapidly rising bids. People are waving their arms to get his attention, making hand signals.  
  
Is that a thumbs up I see? We’re doubling the bid, it comes to fourteen hundred! Going for fourteen hundred? Oh, I see your hand back there, we’re doubling the bid again! Twenty-eight hundred!  
  
You gape at the audience, in a frenzy over you. The number keeps rising, dizzyingly high, forty-two hundred, five thousand. You look over to the cage beside you, to what looks like a teenage girl. Her hair shines in the light, and she looks as if the world is coming crashing down around her ears. You don’t think she’s listening to this, she’s quivering, pulled into herself. Shaking her head.  
  
Through the bars, you can see the woman who abused her pets, her head hung low. Then the man who shot up a school, staring shocked and unblinking at the people bidding on you all. Last, you see the man of the occult, looking pale and blank.

  
The man announces the final offer at twelve thousand dollars, making the last call to see if anyone else would bid higher.  
  
Seven people want part of your soul. The crowd bristles with anticipation. The man asks if a bidding war is about to start, and one person answers, adding on one hundred. You look over the seven people, they’re all easily the best dressed out of everyone, obviously showing off their fortune. Even in hell, money talks.  
  
They tack on amounts, each addition growing larger than the last in an attempt to shake the others. In two minutes, six bidders are left, and you can only hope that they’re fucking loaded because you don’t want to know what it feels like to have your soul ripped to pieces. Bid as long as you can, you pray.  
  
But then the sixth person drops out and you’re left with five, then four, and your heart damn near drops through your stomach but then one person says that they don’t want to share you so it continues. They dwindle down to two people fiercely competing for your soul. You’ve stopped keeping track of the price, your mind has slowed down to just your heartbeat, the colors of the crowd, of the stage.  
  
Keep bidding, keep bidding. And they do, for at least five minutes, but then the man calls it because he knows that they’ll be here all day if they’re allowed to continue. They’ll just have to make do with half of your soul.  
  
The crowd cheers as the announcer concludes the auction, directing those who plan to purchase part of a soul to the slaughter room first.  
  
You watch as they drag away the first cage, the sound of metal on metal screeching in your ears. A small crowd follows, talking excitedly. People part for the cage, allowing it to be pushed through the door. It leaves your vision, and the grating sound of it being dragged away fades out.  
  
After fifteen minutes, they come back to take the next cage, and you tug at the ropes around your wrists again. The wounds burn with pain but you doubt it would be anything compared to having your soul hacked apart. You think the rope is laced with barbed wire with how it pinches into your skin. You keep trying to pry them loose as the minutes flee by. They come back again and the third cage is dragged away. It’s down to you and the girl.  
  
You are so fucked.  
  
You can feel your blood drip onto the back of your shirt as you struggle against your restraints. They aren’t budging, only slicing your flesh. You roll to your knees and pull harder.  
  
The girl beside you is taken away after a few more minutes. There are still people watching in the crowd, talking to each other. Sometimes they point at you, at how you squirm against the ropes. You’re pretty sure your hands are drenched in blood by now, wrists raw and stinging. You need to get out of here, you don’t have much time.  
  
They come back, walking up to your cage and grabbing on. You are dragged halfway across the room and you’re about to lose all hope of escape when you hear a loud crash from above. They pause in transporting you and look up at the ceiling as cracks spider-web out from the center. People murmur worriedly before another quake rocks through the room, bits of light beginning to peak through the splinters. They look around in fear at each other, and then a third quake brings the roof down. Rubble rains overhead in giant chunks, and since you’re in a cage, you’re protected from being crushed.  
  
Cries of surprise ring out, and the dust kicked up from the sudden disturbance has you coughing forcefully. Through the cloud of dirt, you see him drop down, wings glowing brightly and pistols aimed. Relief washes over you and chases away the ice in your blood. Jake.

  
  
It only takes a few seconds for more angels to drop down after him. Soon enough, at least fifteen of them stand in the room, weapons drawn fiercely. People begin pushing the rubble off themselves, shedding their human skin for the much less inviting visage of a demon. Angels narrow their eyes, and you see Jake look around before his sight lands on you. He runs toward your cage and shoots the lock off, ripping open the door and reaching out for you. His arms close around your form and pull you out, bringing you to your feet before he moves to undo the ropes.  
  
He tsks at the state of your wrists when he lets the restraints fall. Did you doubt that I would come for you? He hovers his hand over you again, healing your wounds in an instant.  
  
You don’t have time to answer before he aims a pistol at something behind you, a bullet whizzing out of the barrel with a bang. When you turn, you see that it hit an approaching demon square in the eye, and it falls back hissing in pain.  
  
Demons snarl aggressively, drawing closer to the angels. They hold their ground. Jake shouts that he’s got you, it’s time to get out of here. You watch as they nod, flaring open their shining wings. Jake tugs you close, and he doesn’t need to remind you to hold tightly this time.  
  
Once you secure your arms around his neck, he works his wings hard and you shoot upwards, followed closely by the others. He carries you away from the auction room, taking you higher into the red sky. Above, you see two more angels in waiting, holding open a familiar portal, the one where the light bends and deforms. Jake beats his wings hard and you rocket through it, wind whistling in your ears.  
  
Light surrounds you again, but Jake doesn’t stop. He continues to fly at maddening speeds until you get to the place you almost walked through before you were dragged down. Once you pass through, the golden light gives way to fields covered in lush grass and skies of an azure you’ve never seen. He stretches out his wings to catch against the air, coming to a stop before landing.  
  
When your feet meet the ground again, you let your arms fall from around his neck but keep your hands placed lightly over his shoulders. The angels land around you two, and Jake thanks them for helping. They ask if you’re alright, putting away their weapons. Apologize for taking so long. Hell isn’t the easiest place for angels to get into. Glad we weren’t too late.  
  
A woman speaks out to you. You’re Dirk, yes? She says it as if she already knows.  
  
You nod, and she continues.  
  
My name is Calliope. I’m the head of the angels, and we agree that yours is a soul worthy of wings.  
  
Wings? You ask. She beams.  
  
You died saving someone, then proceeded to devote your final week to making those around you happy.  
  
Then she reaches into the pocket of her coat and removes a small sphere of pure light, holding it out to you.  
  
They’re yours, should you accept them.  
  
Cautiously, you outstretch your hand, taking hold of it. It’s warm beneath your fingertips.  
  
Hold it to your chest, Calliope instructs. You draw it close and suddenly you’re surrounded in silky golden light. A heat makes itself known as it slides down your back, a tickling sensation dropping from your shoulder blades. The feeling washes over you pleasantly, and when the light resides, you feel a new weight on your back that makes you stumble. Jake catches you, one arm placed steadily around your waist.  
  
Balance will be a little off-kilter for a bit, he relays. You glance over your shoulder. Pure white, feathered wings curl out from your back and brush the ground. All you do is stare.  
  
Callie giggles at you and asks if Jake will teach you how to fly. He offers back an affirmation. She nods and says that she’d love to help as well, but she has other duties to attend to. She takes flight and the other angels join her, leaving you alone with Jake in the middle of a vast field. His arm stays wrapped around your waist.  
  
When you look to him, he meets your eyes with a smile.  
  
Welcome to heaven.  
  
You pull him into a hug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> c:  
> originally I had written out that all five of them get taken to the slaughter room and dirk got to watch as they were hacked to pieces but then i reread it and was like  
> D:  
> so i tossed that part  
> But yes I hope you enjoyed the Seven Days minific! It was lots of fun to work on!  
> Also after today I will be taking a week long hiatus, so in a little bit I'll post a chapter purely of pictures for you guys! When I return, I don't think I'll continue bringing updates and illustrations everyday, though, since I feel like I should read and reread each chapter for mistakes and such, and that usually takes a bit of time  
> Regarding this piece of the fanfiction, I might do bits of an afterstory, like Dirk learning to fly with Jake or something! but there's no real guarantee, it's just a thought right now


	33. Pictures!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome to the doodles chapter!  
> this will probably be a pain in the ass to look at over mobile so i don't recommend that interface

the alpha kids with their bangs tied back into tiny ponytails c:

character outfit for roxy of a superherostuck AU that im thinking about doing

the sketch idea of what i could maybe have done at the bridge chapter in the demonstuck AU but i had already drawn dirk with the symbol on his necklace so i figured a tattoo would be a little excessive 

janey in the best shirt

then i started a whole chain of these nerds in gr9 shirts

[ ](http://tinypic.com?ref=2nqwobo)

 

roxo loxo

then jake's didn't look all that good so i fished another file from my folders that i drew a long time ago

I gifted this to a friend i met over parp ^

an edit

another stupid comic

then i drew another dirk shirt for some reason

yet another dumb comic

heres a jake showing off the love bites that dirk gave him in the demonstuck AU

 ignore the 666

sketches of dirk!

i cannot BELIEVE  i forgot to post this picture i drew of jake doing that face people make right before they sneeze

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also i have no idea how to move into the next chapter of the demonstuck AU so if anyone has any suggestions or something they'd like to see written, I would love to hear it!


	34. Sick (Chase)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I'm back from my hiatus! 
> 
> A super big thank you to hernameisgeorge, cuzicouldyay, and Aystrx for providing me with ideas! I cannot express enough gratitude!  
> Enjoy!

Your name is Jake English and you are in the middle if re-tracking the succubus from before. She had decided to find a new street corner to lure her victims in at. While you were able to get things straight with Dirk, you were a little foolish to abandon the hunt. It was childish, but you don't really regret it. He did end up coming home with you and taking some of your energy, and the feeling of his lips was nearly euphoric after so long.  
  
Jade was overjoyed that your relationship problems had been solved, but you think she just finds entertainment in teasing you about the love bites he likes to leave. You wonder if she would react the same way if she knew your 'secret lover' as she so fantastically put it was a demon. You still don't even know what kind he is, to make the heart attack this might give her worse. You are unsure if any of your family knowing is a good idea, especially not what type of demon he could be. They could easily dig up information on things to kill him with! You've all managed to collect a rather extensive selection of encyclopedias focused solely on the supernatural. All they'd need to do is flip to whatever letter it starts with, throw a few doohickeys into place, and voila! A weapon of Dirk's imminent annihilation.  
  
Though, you do distinctly remember Hal telling you that you wouldn't be able to kill him. You know it's not because you're a 'noob' because you are not a noob at hunting! Why wouldn't you be capable of it, then? Not that you even want to kill him at this point, you're simply as curious as a cat! Is he immortal or something? You've heard of several beings that never die, and if your memory serves you correctly you believe Dirk mentioned one when he was telling you about Caliborn's potion. The world tree, you think? Of course, you aren't sure if a tree counts as a being, more so a plant. Then again, there are legends of how it came to be, something about a young woman sacrificing her life to defeat the flames of Armageddon, and the tree sprouting from the place her body laid, so you guess it could be considered a being? Oh, well. It probably doesn't matter much, anyway.  
  
But yes! You are on the case of a succubus! She's been allowed to drain the life of her victims through coitus for too long! If she'd just take what she needs and not completely kill them, you wouldn't have to put a stop to her!  
  
Just a few months ago, if you had merely caught wind of the existence of a succubus, you would have set out to off her, whether she was being reasonable about feeding or not. To be honest, you were really quite the ass about hunting back then. You're glad you've turned your act around. You have Dirk to thank for that, though he might not know it.  
  
Now, you're waiting for her to walk out onto the scene, just as you were a couple weeks ago. The street she's chosen is a little busier than the previous one, so you'll have to change your tactics up a bit as not to cause a stir in the general public. You'll probably offer yourself up as bait until she lets her guard down enough for you to land a hit. Jade would likely smack you in response to that plan, especially since you're solo tonight, but you think you'll be fine.  
  
Hopefully, she won't see fit to use any powers to influence you into acting as she wishes. You've heard they sometimes possess such abilities, but it's rather rare. The bodies the authorities found showed no sign of coercion of the mind, such as yellowed eyes or bloodied noses, so you figure you're safe. At least until you reveal your true intentions.  
  
You scan over the people on the sidewalk, spotting your target as soon as she steps onto the concrete. Without faltering, you adjust your jacket and cross the street in the crowd of pedestrians. Cars stall in the ebbing chill of the night, their heat rolling off them in swirls of steam. Your breath is a tinge visible as well, clouding in a transparent puff when you exhale. The weather is still quite frigid in late March. You can tell she's searching to find her next meal, but you make sure to only keep track from the corner of your eye. You wait until you can detect her presence before you look at her directly. She feels like the heat of passion and the pull of mystery, which is quite an alluring combination, truth be told, however it doesn't particularly pique your senses the way Dirk does. You feign interest, however, and she seems to take notice.  
  
She catches your eyes with hers, a vaguely hypnotic gaze. You can feel the pull of it in the back of your mind, but it's not terribly strong. You can resist it easily if you need to, but you doubt it's more than a suggestion at the moment. She brings up a hand and gestures for you to come over with a single smooth motion of her finger, and you comply without breaking eye contact. A knife forged from iron and engraved with runes nudges against your side with every step, and you find confidence in knowing it's there.  
  
When you find yourself in front of her, she traces a finger up your chest and to the tip of your chin, staring deeply at you with eyes that seem to resonate a contagious desire. You know that she's testing out the way your soul feels to see if you're a good meal, the same way one would check for the best fruits at a grocery store.  Whatever she finds, she seems to like it by the way her eyes narrow slyly and a smirk quirks its way to her painted lips. The finger holding your chin drops back down as she lets her palm rest on your chest, leaning into your ear to suggest that you and her go someplace more private. You nod in agreement and then she's tugging you along the sidewalk to a hotel, skirt swishing flirtatiously around her thighs. Her heels click loudly against the ground, glossy and high in a way that make your feet hurt for her.  
  
Warm air washes over you pleasantly when you enter the hotel. It seems that she's already booked a room, as you completely bypass the check-in desk and head straight for the fifth floor. On the elevator ride up, it's obvious she's eager as she just can't keep her hands off of you. You feel wrong to allow her to touch you but you remind yourself it's for a different cause.  
  
The elevator door opens to an empty hallway and she leads you out, her arms wrapped tightly around one of yours. She stops in front of a door and makes certain you're watching as she slips a hand into her bra and pulls out a room key. When she gets the door open and pulls you inside, her hands wander much more freely than when you were in the elevator. She moves in close again, and you can feel her breasts press against your chest as her hot breath slips over the shell of your ear. Her teeth gently graze over your neck and you can hardly be reminded of Dirk because her voice isn't husky and the hands sneaking up the bottom of your shirt aren't calloused and her body just isn't his.  
  
Her touches become much more fervent when she slips her tongue out for a taste of you, and then she's stringing a finger around your belt loop and dragging you to an unmade bed, pushing you down and crawling on top to straddle your hips. Slowly, she takes off her shirt for you, and while her garment is covering her face, you slip the knife out smoothly. Before she can fully remove the shirt, you plunge it deep into her chest, angling it so that her ribs wouldn't obstruct the blow.  
  
It's as if the air leaves her all at once, and her top falls from her fingers as she looks down at the iron in her heart. You twist the knife and she lurches, croaking in pain as thick blood pours from the stab wound. When she looks at you again, it's with eyes of fear and shock, but also recognition. You can almost hear her thoughts before she slumps backwards, scarlet blood dripping out to stain the white sheets.  
  
You pry the knife from her body and wipe it clean on her discarded shirt before replacing it within your jacket. After stuffing her body into the garbage bag you had brought along, you make sure no one is around before tossing it out the window. Afterwards, you leave the hotel and head around to the back, where you have your car parked since you knew she would take you here. You've been tracking her long enough to predict her moves. You load the bag into the backseat and try to shake off the icky feeling that she left you with.  
  
It takes two hours, and by then you've driven off and buried her body in your favorite graveyard. It's around one in the morning when you finish up and head back to your car. Before you start the engine, you check your phone for messages.  
  
There's one from Dirk, wondering if your apartment was okay to visit. He sent it about forty-five minutes ago, so you reply back with an apology for taking so long to answer and that there shouldn't be anyone in your apartment at the moment, including yourself, but you'll be there shortly. He texts back for you to let him know when you get there, and you promise you will. Of course, you think you'll take a shower first, since digging graves isn't the cleanest of jobs. You are gross and sweaty and you would very much like to not be.  
  
On the way back, the feeling of the succubus's hands linger like a mild sunburn and you shudder a little. You don't really want anyone other than Dirk to touch you like that, even though his hands don't wander as hers did. Or, they haven't yet.  
  
Heat rises to your face as you think about him touching you like that, about his hands sliding up your shirt and his breath ghosting over your skin and good gracious, English, you are driving, don't cause problems for yourself.  
  
When you return to your apartment, you toss your keys into the bowl by your door and peel off your shirt, now darkened with grave grime and flecks of blood. You'll hand wash it after you shower since you know from experience that laundry machines don't get blood out all that well. A little peroxide and cold water should do the trick easy. You toss it into the sink when you walk into the bathroom, sliding off your pants and turning on the shower. Stepping inside, the water runs hot over your skin, rinsing sweat from your face and dirt from your arms. Cleaning up with soap and shampoo has you smelling and feeling much better, and you finish your ablution without fanfare, toweling off the drops coalescing in your hair and on your body.  
  
After retrieving a new set of clothes and scrubbing your shirt clean, you text Dirk, telling him he can come over as you hang your damp shirt on a rack in your bathroom. You walk out and grab a bottle of water, taking a swig before sitting on your couch. Dirk appears soon after, greeting you with a 'hey'.  
  
You respond with a hello, say you were expecting him to drop by soon, he hasn't fed in four days. Lifting a hand, you tug the collar of your shirt down a little and ask if he needs to. He nods before settling beside you, leaning in. You feel his lips brush your neck, but then he pauses, pulling away with furrowed brows.  
  
You worriedly ask if something is wrong.  
  
He says your energy feels like it's been touched by someone else. Have you... Let another person feed from you? His voice honestly sounds a little hurt.  
  
You shake your head no, of course not, but it doesn't look like he believes you. You are drawing up blanks as to why, but then you remember the succubus also licked your neck, and she might have taken a little.  
  
When you tell him this, he nods in understanding, but doesn't look any happier about it. You don't really know why.  
  
He explains it in terms of as if someone else had kissed you, and you suppose you can understand his feelings if that's analogous to the situation. He inquires why you didn't phone someone for help, and you tell him that your cousins are on a trip to get special knives from the next city over, and your sister has a fever.  
  
You could have asked me, he says, and you admit that you didn't think he'd be all for helping you kill other demons.  
  
Only if they've gone bad, he says, and you would certainly say that she had gone a bit off the deep end, what with sucking her victims dry. You apologize for using yourself as bait and reassure him that you will definitely call if you need to next time. He nods and says that you don't have to apologize, you didn't know.  
  
You ask if he still wants to take your energy, to which he responds by leaning in again and pressing his lips to your neck. It doesn't take him long to find where your energy flows the strongest since he's fed from you so many times. Soon enough he's dragging his tongue along the tender skin and you all but melt beneath his fingertips as you drape your arms around him. He's pressed flush against you and you can feel his warmth through your clothes and smell the citrus in his hair.  
  
His teeth nip at you gently, drawing a small gasp from your lips. He smirks against your neck and bites down a little rougher and dear lord you just moaned. You doubt anything compares to what he can do to you, and then his lips are gravitating away from your neck, hands tracing up your sides as his mouth finds yours and he's kissing you. Your eyes flutter closed as you thread your fingers through locks of flaxen hair, knowing you can't possibly pull him any closer but trying anyway. His tongue flicks across your lips and you readily part them, feeling the way he skillfully smooths over the inside of your mouth. You graze over his tongue with yours, loving the pleased noises he makes as he cups your cheek and tilts his head to deepen the kiss.  
  
When he pulls away for air, his face lingers near yours, and up close you can see his eyes through the dark glass of his shades. You think he's about to lean in again, but then his shades ping, alerting him to Hal saying something. He groans and pulls away, asking Hal what's going on. He's silent for a moment, reading over the message. Then he frowns and gets up, saying that Dave is upset again. Sorry that I have to cut this so short.  
  
You assure him it's fine and that he should go care for his little brother. He nods, gives a small wave, and disappears with a whoosh. With it being around two in the morning, you decide to call it a day and get some sleep. Maybe you'll visit Jade tomorrow and bring over something to help her feel better, like sticky rice or something. Yes, that sounds like a good idea. You set out rice to soak overnight and retire to bed, anticipating the next time Dirk drops in to visit.

* * *

You don't hear from him again for a week, and when you do, he's asking you to come to his apartment, which is a little strange but you don't question it all that much. You haven't been there since you followed the aswang, and you need him to tell you just what his apartment number is since you couldn't tell from outside the building and didn't actually check when you left through the door.  
  
He sends you the number and you shrug on the jacket he gave you before setting out for his place. Upon your arrival, you knock on his door, and he calls that it's open. You frown at the way his voice sounds, twisting the knob to push the door open. The sight that greets you is Dirk sprawled on the couch looking positively exhausted with Dave laying on his chest. He looks to you, and you notice his shades are sitting folded on the side table, so his eyes are easy to see. With corrugated brows, you offer a greeting. Ask him what's been going on.  
  
Dave's sick, he informs you, and you take note of how dull his eyes look, just like the day at the bridge.  
  
What's wrong with him? You question, making your way over to kneel beside them as you look at Dave with concern.  
  
He's had a cold for a few days. I thought it would go away in three, but it's been a week and he needs to feed at least twice as much now. Sorry to call you over like this, but I really can't take care of him if I pass out.  
  
You nod as he gets up, standing on shaky legs as he cradles a Dave with rosy cheeks and a wet nose. Clicking his tongue, he calls the baby a snot monster under his breath before plucking a tissue from the box and wiping his nose clean. Dave sniffles and bounces in his arms, looking at you curiously as Dirk carries him to his room, presumably to place him in his crib. You get to your feet and walk around to lean against the back of his couch, waiting for him to return.  
  
When he does, he all but falls into your arms, head tucked at the curve of your neck. You act as his support as he feeds, your hands steady on his hips as his curl at your chest. You feel the edge of the couch pressing into the small of your back, and you're glad you chose this spot to stand or else you might have fallen over.  
  
When he finishes, he presses a kiss to your jawline, and you tell him he should take his own advice and call for help sooner. You feel him nod as he hums, giving your jawline a final kiss before pulling away.  
  
Your hands keep their place on his hips as you ask him if he feels better, and he confirms that he does. His eyes have regained their familiar flame-like sheen, however they still aren't as bright as usual. You tell him he can take more, but he shakes his head, saying that it would start to detrimentally affect you. He's taken what he needs, he's fine, he reassures. You are still concerned, but you don't press him to.  
  
You stick around his apartment in order to keep an eye on both of the Striders since you know Dirk would push himself to the absolute limit before he called for you again. He doesn't seem to get the message about the importance of self-care, and you fear he really will fall unconscious and fail to phone you. Not for the first time, and surely not the last, you are very glad that Jane is your cousin because Dirk also forgets to eat meals in lieu of making sure Dave is alright. She's taught you a fair amount in the culinary arts and though you might not be as skilled as she is, you can make food well enough to impress Dirk and that's more than enough for you.  
  
When the day wanes to an end, Dirk provides you with a change of clothes, which are a little large on you but comfortable all the same. You share his bed and he pulls you to his chest, quietly thanking you for helping him.  
  
You tell him it's not a problem as you nuzzle into him, and you doubt you'll even need a blanket if he's this warm. That is, until Dave begins to wail in the middle of the night and Dirk heaves a sigh, slipping out of bed and meandering off to feed him again.  
  
When he doesn't return, you get up as well to find him sitting in Dave's room, a now calmer baby nestled in his arms.  
  
He's not getting any better, he says, and even through the darkness you can see he's worried.  
  
I don't know what's wrong, he murmurs, looking down at Dave. You walk over to stand next to his chair, slipping an arm around his shoulder and letting him lean into your side.  
  
Things will turn out alright, you whisper back. He breathes a sigh as he nudges you with his head, telling you to get some sleep, he's going to stay up for a while.  
  
You protest at first, but he insists, reasoning that you aren't built to be awake for so long. Besides, he stays up for days on end on a regular basis. He ushers you back to bed, leaving to sit beside Dave's crib the rest of the night. You don't know how many times he's stayed up on all hours to monitor his baby brother's condition, but you have a feeling it's not the first time.  
  
You wake up early the next morning, the bed still empty save for you. In the kitchen, Dirk is spoon-feeding Dave a cup of applesauce. It looks like Dave won't open his mouth unless Dirk does as well, so he has to say 'ah' every time before giving him a tiny spoonful since Dave likes to mimic him. The scene is much too adorable for you not to chuckle at a bit, and Dirk looks up to you with a bit of a glower. You are delighted to discover that his ears tinge pink when he's embarrassed.  
  
He won't eat otherwise, he mumbles, demonstrating by poking the baby's mouth with a spoonful of applesauce. Dave doesn't budge, only looks at him expectantly. Dirk opens his mouth, and Dave follows suit, allowing Dirk to feed him.  
  
You take a seat beside him, a smile tugging at your lips. You tell him that you aren't laughing at him, he's just too cute for this world. He grumbles at this and continues to feed Dave, who sways his little legs back and forth. You prop your chin in the palm of your hand as you watch fondly.  
  
Dirk? You ask, and his eyes flick to you as he hums in reply. Am I given clearance to know how you became the guardian of Dave? He shrugs and opens his mouth, feeding his baby brother the last of the applesauce before placing the spoon in the cup and retrieving a napkin to wipe Dave's face. You figure he's not going to tell you, but then he's talking.  
  
His parents had decided just one little shit wasn't enough, and they came around with this squishy thing. He gestures to Dave, who coughs a little in his sickness.  
  
He had taken the elevator down to Hell to visit them and meet his little brother, planning to stay with them for a while. They were happy to have him, and things were great for the first two days. Weird family time, a little alarm that liked to go off at all hours - that's still Dave - shit was alright.  
  
On the third day, he had just put in a request for a ticket back up, since those usually take a day or two to go through and get delivered, when the front door was fucking blown in. His parents were immediately pissed, as you can imagine, and he went with them to confront the intruder, armed with fists.  
  
Turns out, it was the same dude cooking up trouble here, Caliborn. He's spewing all sorts of shit, but mainly he's looking for the newborn Dave, whose blood was crucial for his immortality potion. That wasn't about to fly with anyone, and his mother was the first to throw a flaming fist. She had a deadly right hook, from what Dirk's heard. He's sure Caliborn felt it for days after she slammed her knuckles into his face, even with rapid healing.  
  
Then, Caliborn pulled out this knife, and normally they would have just laughed at him, but this one was different and they could tell instantly. The lunatic had actually gone through the struggle to create a knife able to kill them, and that's when they knew this guy wasn't fucking around. He'd need the water from the springs of heaven to make it, and heaven has ridiculously high surveillance, so him even being anywhere near the pearly gates was extremely risky. Angels would kill a demon with pleasure.  
  
So his mother took a step back to reevaluate the situation, but Cal sprung forward and plunged it through her chest without hesitation. His father lost any semblance of cool and basically raised the flames of hell through the floor while Dirk rushed to catch his mother's falling body. Cal ripped the knife from her chest and jumped away from his father's attacks, and his mother was sputtering for Dirk to protect Dave, get Dave and run, but he couldn't just leave them there. That's when Cal let the knife go flying, and it snagged his father in the throat.  
  
His mother heaved a sob and weakly begged him to get away with Dave as Caliborn wrenched the knife from his dad's fallen body. Then he was walking toward Dirk, and his mom choked on one last plea through the blood bubbling up her throat before she stopped breathing.  
  
So Dirk got to his feet and sprinted around him, heading for his little brother. He knocked over a bookshelf on his way, blocking Caliborn's path to bide some time as he scooped up the baby and broke through the window, deciding that the elevator just wasn't going to cut it today. He crawled his way up from Hell, and while it was extremely strenuous, especially toting along an infant, it was much more difficult to track since they kept records of who used the elevator and when.  
  
Once he got to the surface, he had expended more energy than ever and couldn't possibly whoosh back to his place, so he settled for just walking.  
  
That's when you showed up, he said, and then shot me in the leg. The universe was just out to get him that day, he couldn't catch a break.  
  
You sit in silence for a few moments before burying your face in your hands and proclaiming that you are so sorry for what happened, especially for tacking on even more problems to him by shattering his kneecap. You've apologized for it before, but now the guilt you feel over it has reached an astounding peak.  
  
He assures you it's fine, it happened like four months ago. You doubt he could get over the murder of his family in four months, but he keeps saying it's alright as he cleans up Dave's runny nose. You're about to press further, but then he looks up, the flash of an epiphany evident in his eyes.  
  
You ask him what it is, and he says that maybe Dave needs the heat of Hell to get well again. Perhaps it's important for his development? He crosses his arms and sits back, contemplating.  
  
He doesn't want to remove Dave from the apartment for too long, since his friend Roxy had somehow gotten seals to make them impossible to detect, basically invisible on demonic radar, but only in his apartment. Perhaps he could bring back a crate of coals? Is it even safe to use Hell's elevator now? He can't just teleport to Hell, it's basically an alternate world and it's impossible to jump through the fabric of different dimensions. He could probably just hop down and then climb back up. Carrying a crate of coals is probably way easier than a squirming baby. Who would look after Dave, though?  
  
At this, you offer to care for him if he decides to make the trip, and Dirk looks at you, mildly incredulous.  
  
You would? Are you sure? He likes to set things on fire.  
  
You nod, saying you can definitely take care of him for a while. You've dealt with both babies and fires before so it shouldn't be a problem. Besides, Hell's coals might help Dave to get better.  
  
He nods, and appears to make up his mind about going. Then he gets to planning, how much blood will Dave need while he's gone? Should he call Roxy over to help?  
  
He paces around the small kitchen, and you can tell he likes to plan things to microscopic detail, as he's estimating how much blood Dave takes in a day and then pulling out plastic containers. He fills two with blood.  
  
You don't think that this is a very safe practice, but he informs you that rapid blood replenishing comes hand-in-hand with healing. He seals the containers up and sticks them in the fridge. After he wipes stray droplets of blood from the counter, he tells you to microwave them and pour them in a baby bottle when Dave needs to feed. Wet towels should put out the fires if needed.  
  
You nod along, listening intently as he tells you basically everything you need to know, since you probably won't be able to call him later. There isn't a signal strong enough up here to reach Hell, and there isn't a signal strong enough in Hell to reach up here.  
  
By the time he finishes, a good thirty minutes has passed. Dave is coughing again, a worrying wheezy cough as he sucks in a breath every few seconds, and Dirk lifts him up to pat on his back. He'd better get going to Hell quick, he says.  
  
He replaces Dave in his crib before walking back, asking if he could feed from you again. You nod and stand, pulling down the collar of your shirt and then he's tugging you close, licking and sucking at your neck sensually.  
  
Afterwards, he catches your lips with his softly, a stark contrast to the heated attention he just gave you. You smile against his mouth, placing your hands gently on his chest.  
  
When he pulls away, he says that he's going to call his friend Roxy over to help, plus it's high time you met her anyways. He tells you not to worry about having to break the ice with her because with Roxy there is literally never any ice. She's cool. And then he's sending a text message to her, saying she'll be here in about two minutes.  
  
The next thing you know, that whoosh sound blows to your ears and you turn to see a woman with a bob cut flared at the ends and a curl in her bangs. She looks excited when she lands her cat-like rosy eyes on you, and she bounds up to Dirk, asking if that's the guy, like, THE guy, and Dirk nods, yes that is indeed THE guy.  
  
The one who shot you in the knee and you are now totally making a mouth party on?  
  
Yes.  
  
Sweet.  
  
She holds out her hand to you, and you shake it as she introduces herself. Roxy Lalonde. She's heard a lot about you - but then Dirk is clamping a hand over her mouth as she laughs beneath his palm and smacks at his arm, trying to get him to let go. After a few seconds Dirk rips his hand away with a 'you licked me' but Roxy only snickers as he wipes her spit on her shirt. You decide then that you rather like this Roxy gal.  
  
Dirk explains the situation to her, and she says she can totes help look after poor sick Davey for a bit, he can count on mama Roxy pretty much anytime.  
  
He spends another twenty minutes making sure he's covered everything he needs to, and Dave's coughing prompts him to get his ass in gear and move along. You and Roxy tell him to stay safe as you see him off, and he waves behind him as he walks out the door and makes his way down the hall. Then, you're left alone with her, and she turns to you with a sly smile.  
  
So, you and him? Roxy grins with lips painted black, and you can see razor sharp incisors gleaming in her mouth. You shrug, a little flustered, and she tells you to not even try to hide it. Dirk's scent is all over you, and yours is all over him. Plus, you're kind of wearing his clothes. It's a dead giveaway.  
  
You look down at the gray T-shirt with the illuminati symbol on it and agree that your relationship with him is hardly difficult to pick up on. She nods, and you compliment her sense of smell. She thanks you wholeheartedly, she's not a feline demon for nothing.  
  
And so the two of you get to know one another over Dave's illness. She shows you that she can purr and it completely blows you away. You impress her with your extensive knowledge of movies, and she has fun giving you trivia from the most obscure films she can think of.  
  
You set Dave in the kitchen sink to give him a bath, and as you fill the basin with warm water, Dave heats it up himself. Roxy has to take over after that, since it's near boiling and you would cook your hands if you tried to clean him. She's not as impervious to heat as Dirk is, but she can take some hot water just fine. You watch as she uses baby shampoo to give Dave a tiny Mohawk, and you laugh when she gives him three separate spikes of soapy blond. After she takes him out and towels him off, you remove the cartons of blood from the fridge and pour some in a bottle. You and Roxy spend a few minutes trying to figure out how long to microwave it, and after a lot of guessing, you settle for thirty seconds. You wonder how many other people have microwaved a baby bottle filled with demon blood in their lives. However many there are, two have been added to the list.  
  
You hold Dave with one arm and feed him with the other, however he won't open his mouth for it, so you try what Dirk did earlier, and he takes to the bottle without problems. Roxy snorts at you and says that Dave is so ridiculous, she can't feed him without laughing. He drains the bottle halfway before pushing it away, and you set the bottle down before wiping the stray trickle of blood from his chin. It's still pretty unnerving to see an infant drinking blood, but you guess it's a normal thing in Hell. Roxy says it's fairly common and important for growing demon babies. Blood has all sorts of vital nutrients apparently. It's straight life-force. You suppose that makes sense.  
  
Later, Roxy sets Dave in her lap as she sits cross-legged on the floor, playing Mario Kart with you. Dave seems to like rainbow road, especially when Roxy uses your own ass to beat you at it. You suggest she enter into a tournament since she plays so well, and she says that she has a few times. The blonde tells you about all the neck beards she saw as Dave plays with the design of a paw print on her shirt.  
  
You both unceremoniously forget about the game of Mario Kart as you listen to her stories, like that one guy who climbed up to the ceiling and hung from the bars throwing candy at the crowd below. You and she are content to share strange experiences until it's time to feed Dave again, who drinks the next half of the bottle.

* * *

Your name is Dirk Strider and you have just jumped down to hell. It took you a long ass time to find an opening, but it was less time consuming than waiting a few days to receive a ticket. Not that they aren't really good about getting them properly distributed, it's actually better than ever since the mayor took over. The mayor is fucking great. You just think hopping down is a lot faster. Luckily, as you are of a higher class of demons, your body can withstand the force of the fall. It just leaves your knees a little sore for a few minutes. Other demons would probably have gone splat.  
  
Hell looks just like it did four months ago. It's always nice to visit home every once in a while. You wonder if the bodies of your parents are still in the house. Something you'll need to figure out, you think.  
  
You teleport to your old home, standing at the edge of the steps leading to the front door. There is yellow caution tape plastered over the entrance, reading that it was a police line and should not be crossed. You cross it and step inside.  
  
It's obvious the authorities are investigating the murder of your parents, and it's understandable since you've heard that Caliborn is a wanted criminal. Man, they've even got the white tape outlining where your parents died. If seeing that isn't a reason to break down, you don't know what is. You look away, seeing the overturned bookshelf thrust aside from where you had knocked it down. Striding past, you turn to the storage room, twisting the knob and walking inside, flipping on the light.  
  
Man, your parents had a shit ton of stuff. You're glad you know where to find the crates. They're tucked in the back corner beneath a couple foldable chairs. Just one should be fine, you think, and you pry a dusty wrought iron case from beneath the clutter. A bunch of things flop to the floor, and a particular lampshade hits you in the head, but you manage to get it with only a little trouble.  
  
The thing has to be at least fifty pounds, but you carry it easily. Plus, since it was made in Hell, it can withstand the heat without melting into a disappointing puddle. You should probably grab some Hell-made clothes since the ones you're wearing would burn up if you venture to the pit beneath your house. Your father's clothes should work, though they'll definitely be too big. He stood at six foot five, and his chest was much broader than yours. You lift the crate and walk to your parents' room, only faltering a little when you smell your mothers light perfume. It's vague and fading, but it flits through the air in sweet swirls that remind you she's not coming back this time.  
  
You exhale slowly, evening your breathing before sauntering over to the dresser, pulling open the drawers and retrieving a plain shirt and an old pair of jeans. Tossing them in the crate, you quickly leave the room with a thick swallow and turn to walk to the door at the very end of the hallway, opening it up to reveal a staircase leading downwards, a hazy red-orange glow bleeding up from the bottom. You feel the warmth curl over your skin as you begin the trek down, the heat only growing stronger with each step. Before you make it to the end, your shirt catches fire. You glance down and continue walking with a shrug. It's not long before your pants turn to flame as well, but your father's clothes sit unaffected in the crate. Man, mundane clothes are so cheap. They fall from your form in tatters and ashes, and your shoes are gone soon after. You are stark naked as you finally set your bare feet at the bottom, stepping over the bright coals.  
  
You used to take naps down here when you were little. It's still so warm and cozy, enough to make you forget about the outlines of your parents taped to the floor for a while. However, you are reminded as soon as you reach to remove your dad's clothes from the crate. You set them out as you start to load the case with coals, finding ones large enough that they wouldn't slip through the gaps in the iron. It doesn't take too long, and soon you are climbing back up the steps, clothes sitting on top of the coals for easy access later. For now, you are traipsing about in your birthday suit, since to get back up in any semblance of a timely manner, you'll need to change into your true form. While the clothes aren't destroyed by heat, they surely would be if you grew to your real size whilst wearing them. You wish you could have done so when you were crawling up with Dave, but you couldn't accidentally drop him. Grievous injury could cause permanent damage so early in life. Also Caliborn was looking to use him as an ingredient in his goddamn immortality potion and you couldn't risk anything. Now, however, you could just hook the crate on a claw and carry it up easy. Probably. You'll find out when you reach the roof and transform.

* * *

You and Roxy have been taking care of Dave for quite a few hours now, and he's seemed completely fine up until recently, but now he's looking around, craning his neck as if searching for something as he bawls loudly. You've tried to give him food, to change his diaper, to rock him gently, but he won't stop crying. Roxy's even tried to hold him and purr to calm him down. You are at a loss of what to do, and Dave just looks more and more distressed by the minute.  
  
Roxy is holding him closely as she spins slowly around the room, humming what you believe is that song about closing the goddamn door with a troubled look on her face. The baby continues to cry, ruby eyes watery and sparkling with unhappy tears.

  
  
What's wrong? Roxy groans, dragging out the words in a show of how concerned she is. Dave only continues to wet her shoulder with tears, as he is a baby incapable of speaking coherently in anything other than babbles and bubbles. You sigh and cross your arms. Things were going so well just a few moments ago! What happened? You can't pinpoint anything! Nothing out of the ordinary has happened for the entire duration of the congregation of the 'babysitting brigade' as Roxy so perfectly puts it. Dave has only set two things on fire, and you are pretty sure he laughed when he watched you flail to put out the flames, so that couldn't be it. He wasn't hungry or dirty and you had both showed him ample attention the whole time! Was it a sore throat? A stomach ache? You are at a loss.  
  
Fifteen minutes pass and he is still wailing about something, so you have a feeling it's not a sore throat since he would probably stop after a while if it was. Roxy has handed him off to you and now you are sitting on the couch trying to calm him down. Dave grabs at the pyramid on your shirt as he cries, and you wipe away the fat tears rolling down his squishy cheeks with a tissue. When Roxy sees him fist up the triangular design in his tiny palm, she seems to understand.  
  
Oh, she says pitifully. He misses Dirk. It's not something you can fix or make right, since Dirk isn't here right now. He should be home soon, though, he's been gone for at least fourteen hours. Roxy pouts as she realizes that there's nothing you two could do for him.  
  
It takes another thirty minutes for him to stop crying and lull off to sleep. You and Roxy both breathe a sigh of relief when his eyes close, and she checks the clock as she bites her lip.  
  
You ask her what's up as she frowns, and she says she has to be at her job soon. She has the night shift working a bar today. You say that she can leave if she needs to, you've got the fort held down. Dave has gone to sleep and there shouldn't be any more disturbances. She is still hesitant, but you assure her you are fine. With conflicted eyes, she decides to go, giving you her phone number in case you need anything. Then she teleports away with the light sound of wind.  
  
The apartment is quiet now, save for Dave's slightly wheezy breathing. You get to your feet and pad towards his room. After a bit of fiddling, you manage to place him in his crib, pulling a small blanket over his form. Dragging a chair over, you set it next him and situate yourself, making sure you're near in case he wakes up again.  
  
Outside, the moon is waxing into the sky, but the city lights blot out the stars. You heave a sigh and rest your chin in the palm of your hand, elbow propped on the arm of the chair. Caring for a child sure is tiring, you've no idea how Dirk can possibly do so all the time. You even had help from Roxy and you are still positively pooped. No snoozing on the job, though. You aren't done taking care of him.  
  
Dave wakes himself up a little later with his own coughs, and you try again to feed him. He takes to the bottle and drinks, and while he's nestled in your arms you hear that familiar whoosh. Upon looking up, you find Dirk standing in the living room wearing clothes far too big for him and holding a crate of glowing coals. You offer him a smile, say welcome back.

  
He nods a greeting and asks where Roxy went. You tell him she needed to go to work and he hums in reply.  
  
Has Dave been a little shit while I was gone?  
  
You tell him he's been just fine, though he did cry because he missed you once. As he listens to you, he tugs a blanket from the couch with one hand and sets it on the floor, placing the crate on top. You half expect the blanket to burst into flames, but it doesn't.  
  
Quality made-in-Hell material, he says. It'll keep the floor from being singed.  
  
You didn't know they made things like that in Hell. He tells you to toss any stereotypes you've ever heard of Hell because like 90 percent of them are false. Also when Dave's done feeding could you bring him over?  
  
You say that you will and direct you attention back to the baby in your arms.

Dirk watches, and if he wasn't wearing those silly shades of his, you'd be able to see his eyes soften a fraction. You can hardly hear his footsteps as he walks over, and then he's behind your chair, slipping his arms around your shoulders and resting his head atop yours.  
  
Thanks for taking care of him, he murmurs, and you reply that it wasn't a problem, you were glad to.  
  
Then Dave pushes the bottle away and reaches up to Dirk, making a small whining noise. Dirk chuckles and loosens his arms from around you, walking around to pick him up from your arms.  
  
Heard you missed me, he grins. Dave links his tiny arms around Dirk's neck and babbles a little, head tucked against his shoulder. You hand the bottle to Dirk and he offers it to Dave, but he’s apparently had enough blood. The older Strider takes him over beside the coals, laying him down on the blanket and opening the container, setting out the glowing rocks around him. Dave looks at them curiously, pushing a couple around and even trying to bite into one. His little baby T-shirt begins to flame. You start to walk over, but are immediately hit with an overwhelming heat, as if you were standing right next to a looming fire.  
  
You take a step back on reflex, and Dirk looks up, saying that you shouldn’t come too close as he gently pries the coal from Dave’s mouth, placing it on his tummy. You’ll catch fire, he informs, and I’ve heard that isn’t too fun for humans.  
  
You shake your head no, that isn’t very fun at all. It rather soils any kind of gathering, really. He shrugs and says being on fire is plenty fun for him.  
  
You laugh a little as you once again take your seat in the kitchen, chair turned to face him. You ask him again, what even _are_ you? He only casts you a smirk as he continues to pile coals around Dave. Points to the chain on his neck. You’ve got to guess.  
  
You huff and roll your eyes exaggeratedly, you weren’t actually expecting a straight answer. You guess you were just a little hopeful since he told you about how he became the guardian of Dave earlier. One thing at a time, you suppose.  
  
Dave rolls around in the coals, seemingly intent on trying to eat them. He can’t, though, since he has no teeth yet. Dirk again takes the coal from his mouth and places it snug against his side.  
  
These would give you a stomach ache, he tells the baby. Dave shows no sign of having understood him and clumsily picks up another one, gnawing on it. Dirk sighs and seemingly gives up, letting Dave dally around in the ashes of his clothes and the rocks radiating the heat of Hell.  
  
You raise a hand and yawn into your palm, checking the clock to see that it’s late into eleven PM. Dirk asks if you’ll spend the night again, he doesn’t really want you driving whilst fatigued. You agree that staying one more night would probably be the best course of action and rub at your eyes with the pads of your fingers.  
  
How on earth can you take care of him all the darn time, you inquire. He shrugs and remarks that taking care of a demon baby most likely differs dramatically from a human one. You just aren’t used to it.  
  
It was a bit different, you agree. You’ve never taken care of a baby that boils their own bathwater before.  
  
He likes to do that, yeah, Dirk tells you nonchalantly. Dave gives a big yawn and rolls onto his back, ready to resume the slumber his coughs had rudely woken him up from in a cozy pile of coals. Then he’s out, asleep and still, surrounded by red hot rocks.  
  
Dirk asks if you’d like to take a shower before going to bed, and you reply that you would, so he provides you another change of clothes. You take them into the bathroom and come out about fifteen minutes later, rubbing the water from your hair with a towel. Dirk follows suit and takes a shower as well, though his is a bit longer than yours. When he comes out, his hair is down and he’s wearing clothes that actually fit him, tossing the dirty ones in a basket.  
  
He crawls into bed with you, placing his shades next to where your glasses lay on the nightstand. When he flicks out the light, you can see the dim orange sheen of his eyes. They flick to you, and you pull yourself closer, letting your head rest on his chest. An arm slips around your side and holds you near, and you can almost feel his heart beating, gentle but strong and steady.  
  
You push yourself to your elbows and lean up, pressing your lips to the edge of his. His free hand finds your chin and tilts your head slightly, catching you in a full kiss. When you break, you feel the corners of your mouth tug into a grin as you return to your previous position on his chest, nuzzling against him. His fingers absently trace shapes onto your side, the gesture calming and comfortable.  
  
Dave sleeps soundly through the night, and so do the both of you.


	35. Ghost Hunt - Night One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I really really love those ghost shows where people go in and are like "ARE THERE ANY SPIRITS HERE??" and then they get freaked out by a dust particle it's the bEST  
> so uh  
> take this  
> the J-team but at an actual haunted place

Your name is Jake English and your cousins John and Jane have invited you and your sister to be on their television show. You and she have made appearances on it before, and the experiences were thrilling to say the least. Your cousins run a ghost hunt program, where they investigate paranormal happenings in the most haunted places in the world. They’ve filmed chilling phenomena at places like Gettysburg, where the grueling battles of the Civil War took the lives of over 40,000 men. Since they were in the area, they shot another episode at the Eastern State Penitentiary, an abandoned prison since 1971 that drove its inmates mad with harsh methods of rehabilitation. You accompanied them to England once, to stay a few days at the Ancient Ram Inn in Gloucestershire. You filmed John getting pushed into a wall and dragged across the floor there, and even though it was ebbing into summertime the air was cold and icy.  
  
Now, the J-team as Jade likes to call it, are out and heading for a hospital you’ve been invited to in Houston, Texas, built in 1921 called Saint Greston’s Clinic. It’s still active to date as a normal hospital, however one side has been completely sealed off due to several occurrences of aggressive and violent spiritual activity. You and your sister are going with John and Jane to interview the doctors and nurses to find out just what is causing these disturbances.  
  
John holds the video camera as he steps out of the car, turning around to film Jane as she introduces the area. Jane’s always been the best story teller, and even you can’t help but be hooked on her enthralling tale of the hospital’s history. After she expertly sets the scene and John and Jade get a few shots of the area against the white sky, the four of you venture inside the part of the hospital that’s still working.  
  
Within, it looks ordinary enough, with glossy floor tiles and potted plants. A bulletin board sits behind a large semi-circle desk where papers are pinned with fliers in bold lettering. You find a frosted glass divider cutting off the view to the waiting area to the left, and a long corridor almost bursting with doors leading to places unknown. You and Jane talk to the people at the front desk, and they smile and greet you because they knew you were coming today. They ask how your trip over was and if you've been to the restaurant downtown that's just to die for and how long you plan to stay. After exchanging courteous pleasantries, one of the women volunteers to be interviewed, as well as the man who works maintenance in the facility. He had had his large hands tinkering about with computer wires up until that point and looked rather concerned about accidentally breaking the thin electrical cords. You begin with the woman, and at this point John hands you the camera so that he can talk with her since he’s better at the whole socializing thing than you are.  
  
She introduces herself as Feferi, she’s a nurse here and she’s seen some pretty weird stuff! Things like flickering lights and doors closing by themselves. She informs John that the happenings aren’t strictly located in the closed area, those are only the harshest and most malevolent ones. There are weaker spirits around here still, but they’re harmless enough that they don’t need to interfere. Feferi relays that sometimes she can hear things when she passes the doors to the other side, which is supposed to be completely abandoned. She’s heard distant cackling and loud thuds that echo dully. Hysterical sobbing and agonized screams.  
  
Once you complete the interview with her, you move on to the maintenance man, whose name is Equius. He gruffly tells you that whenever he comes here to do some work, he feels the presence of something. Nothing that feels harmful, just as if someone is beside him. Sometimes he’ll hear the voice of a young girl, but he can’t ever make out what she’s saying. John asks if she’s been around today. He responds with an affirmation. She always makes certain to visit him.  
  
John seems really excited to start investigating, but first you all call in a specialist who’s been to the hospital to contact spirits before. She arrives after a short time- her name is Aradia Megido. She’s incredibly happy and even enthusiastic to share her findings with you, and she asks if you’ll show her yours when you complete the investigation. Her passion for her field is nearly boiling over in excited grins. You all agree to do so as she powers on her laptop. She opens a file, and then another, which holds a list of .mp3 recordings.  
  
Aradia lets you all listen to a few EVPs she captured in the abandoned section of the hospital.  
  
_Help…_  
  
_She took her..._  
  
_I’ll crush your skull…_  
  
_Get out!_  
  
The last one is particularly clear, and Aradia says that just after she caught it, the lights, which were previously off, flared to life with such intensity that they burst into sparks and faded out. In that short period of illumination, she saw a large looming figure, taller than anyone she’s ever seen, carrying some kind of club. Standing with its back turned to her was a smaller figure, poised as if in confrontation with the other. She isn’t sure if the voice was telling her to get out or telling one of the apparitions to. Regardless, she had a strong feeling she was unwanted in the vicinity, so she packed up and left.  
  
She also tells you about the other things she saw, and she even pulls up a video she took of a gurney slowly rolling back and forth down the hallway on squeaky wheels. In the maternity ward, the specialist captured the ‘she took her’ from a distraught sounding female voice. The ‘I’ll crush your skull’ she recorded in the psych ward, shortly before the shout of ‘get out’. The voices are distinctly different, both male. One was growling and threatening that sends chills down your spine, the other demanding and authoritative.  
  
Aradia has a blast showing you all the things that happened while she was there, and she doesn’t seem at all perturbed by them. She’s weirdly fascinated, even more so than John. By the time you’ve finished the interview with her, everyone is nervous yet pumped to start investigating. You all go over the equipment, making sure it’s fully functional. Jade plays with the laser grid scope, shining it on the walls and saying that the green dots look like stars. John makes sure to attach it to her camera so that she can handle it tonight.  
  
You’ll be going into the abandoned section at night for however many nights you deem suitable in order to capture the paranormal activity that’s scared people so horribly. To be honest, you are kind of scared yourself. Ghosts aren’t your particular cup of tea, but you know that whenever you’re around they like to manifest for some reason. John has figured this out, it seems, and he often asks if you’ll be on the show since the ghosts are so much more active when you are. You haven’t the faintest clue why, but you know your cousins get by on the money they make from their show, so you can put up with a little fear every now and then for them.  
  
When ten o’clock ticks around, the ‘J-team’ is ready to go, and Feferi sees you all to the doorway of the blocked off section. Be careful, she tells you cheerily as she unlocks the door, opening it for everyone. The hinges creak ominously, a low moan of warning.  
  
When you step inside, the atmosphere changes drastically. It feels heavier, colder. Denser. You all document this vocally on camera, finding that everyone feels the same thing as you venture down the first hall. It’s incredibly dark, you can’t even see your hand when it’s directly in front of your face, so you have to look around through the viewpoint of your camera. John carries a thermal cam that gives a visual of heat, and you can see Jane in front of him on it, her figure bright yellow surrounded by the vibrant purples and blues of the hospital. Your camera is equipped with a full-spectrum feature that captures everything from infrared to ultraviolet light. It lets you see things rather clearly, albeit dark and shadowed. Jade’s is set to night vision, and Jane also has a full-spectrum camera that can toggle between normal.  
  
You agree to start with the maternity ward first, as you are all quite intrigued by what the voice Aradia heard meant. Jane is set to solve all the mysteries surrounding this place, as she is basically the detective of the crew. She’s always done a fantastic job of finding the truth, and you are confident that she’ll be able to get the facts straight this time as well.  
  
The signs on the walls direct you down the long passageways riddled with broken and rusty doors, glass panes broken or missing. You count the broken tiles crimping the floor, the scent of decay an aggressive attack on your nose. When you all find the maternity ward, you set up cameras on tripods and settle inside the room where Aradia heard the voice. There’s a single birthing bed in the center, and the floor is grimy from years of neglect. The air here is thick with sorrow, and Jade confesses that her chest grows tight just from feeling it. Whoever is here is very, very sad. John turns on an EMF meter, and the little light on it flickers weakly. Jane needs no more prompting to take out a digital recorder, beginning with the first round of questions with long pauses between each one.  
  
Who is haunting the maternity ward?  
  
Are you upset about something?  
  
Is there anything you want to tell us?  
  
When she’s done, she plays back the recording, her voice slightly scratchy from the device. No answers were given to any of her questions, however during the pause after Jane asked the last question, a faint whimper could be heard that didn’t come from any of you. She tries again, and you feel the air drop in temperature.  
  
Why are you crying?  
  
What is your name?  
  
How did you die?  
  
When you gather around to listen to the recording, the spirit again only makes noise for the last question, but this time a female voice answers.  
  
_Needles._  
  
The hair on your arms stand on end as goosebumps raise. The EMF meter John is holding shines brighter and emits a small whining noise. You died from needles? Jane asks.  
  
No response.  
  
Were you a victim of malpractice? John calls out.  
  
_The nurse,_ the voice rasps. The spirit doesn’t talk to you anymore after that, so none of you can make any for-sure conclusions about this encounter. You check the camera you set up in the corner of the room, looking over the video with everyone.  
  
In the middle of Jane asking questions, it looks as if the cushion on the bed dips in a certain spot, like someone had taken a seat there, but leaves soon after. Jade walks over and sits in it, laying back. She asks if the spirit died here, like this. Were you a new mother? And then you get the first response in over thirty minutes.  
  
_Stop, she’ll come here._  
  
Who will come here? John asks. An eerie silence consumes you, making you check behind yourself and in the shadowed corners in the room to make sure no one else is there. A loud resonating bang suddenly sounds, far down the hallway. You jump in your spot and whirl around to the door as everyone asks what the fuck was that. John is the first out the door, thermal camera in hand as he looks through. He captures a vague shape sitting on one of the gurneys before it vanishes, leaving the bed to roll to a stop.  
  
John tells the cameras that this place is extremely active, and you are really quite spooked by it all. You’re glad none of the spirits have touched anyone or dragged them across the floor like that time at the inn in England. The sight of John being tugged by his ankles as he clawed at the ground was one that made sleep an elusive bastard for you. How he can so readily jump right back into ghost hunting with that big goofy grin is beyond you.  
  
Upon further inspection of the gurney, Jane deduces that it came barreling down the adjoining hall and slammed into the wall, creating the loud crash everyone heard earlier. You wonder if the force would be enough to harm one of you.  
  
Upon returning to the room, you receive no more answers from the female spirit, so Jade sets up a small recorder in the corner of the room before you set off to the ICU. Your bones already feel like ice and you worry how long you’ll be able to hold the camera steady.  
  
When you reach the area, you are unsure of where to go, so you all simply linger along the hallways as you attempt to contact the spirits. John sees fit to pull out the spirit box, which ghosts can channel their voices through and speak with you. It’s proven quite successful on past escapades, so he switches it on and engulfs the silence in that familiar scratchy white noise.  
  
Hello, is anyone here?  
  
And through the static, you pick up a clear _Hello!_ that sounds like it’s come from a young girl. She sounds rather cheerful, and Jane gives another hello back. You are a little glad for the change of pace from obviously distressed to seemingly happy.  
  
What’s your name? John asks, and his tone is friendly, mirroring the spirit’s.  
  
She responds, _Nepeta._ You’ve never heard such a name before, and John repeats it back to her for confirmation.  
  
How did you die? Jane asks.  
  
_Sick_ is the response.  
  
Sick with what? You ask. The spirit doesn’t address your inquiry.  
  
_Is Eq here?_  
  
Eq? You mean Equius? Are you the one who’s been following him around?  
  
_Friend_ is the reply, and then you don’t hear anything else from her. By this time, you’ve spent the first two hours of the night and have captured quite a few paranormal happenings. Of course, things are only getting started.  
  
John continues to wander the ICU with everyone, and he’s traded out the spirit box for the digital recorder since the white noise is really annoying. Over the course of the few hours you spend in there, he gathers several recordings of different voices, playing each back to everyone three times so that you could discern what they were saying. A few common themes arise in them.  
  
_Nurse._  
  
_Get you._  
  
_Stolen._  
  
It’s here that John feels something touch his hand, and you shiver at the thought of the first physical contact of the night. You sorely hope it’s also the last. After a while, Jane speaks up and says that she’d like to look further into the gurney incident that happened earlier, so you travel back up to the maternity ward. The gurney isn’t there anymore.  
  
Following the hall you all believe it came from, you find your way to the psych ward, where Aradia saw the frightening apparition. This is the area you dread the most, and you are not eager at all to find what kind of horrors this place has in store for you.  
  
You enter the first door, a plain room with a single bed stripped of a mattress and a metal chair. Nothing happens in this room, but you feel like a pair of eyes is fixated on the back of your neck at all times. You express your discomfort to the others, and they agree that they also feel like they're being watched intently.  
  
Moving on to the next three rooms leaves you empty handed, so you all begin to move in further down to the padded rooms. The first doorknob you touch is warm, which is strange since the surrounding air is quite cold. It feels like someone’s been holding it for a long time. You push into the room as everyone follows. Here, John picks up the voice of another woman.  
  
Is there anyone with us right now?  
  
_…for me? Radical._ No one can pick out what is said preceding the other words, but she doesn’t sound threatening, so you breathe easy for a little. That is, until she talks again.  
  
_Who’s that?_  
  
Who’s who? Jane asks.  
  
It prompts John to introduce everyone. That’s Jane, that’s Jade, that’s Jake, I’m John.  
  
_Jake._ Says the voice. A chill runs down your spine.  
  
_Not safe here._ The woman warns.  
  
And then she’s silent, and she won’t respond to any more of your calls. Why isn’t it safe? What do you want with Jake?  
  
After a while, you give up on this particular room and set out another recorder to retrieve when it’s time to leave the hospital for the night. When you exit the room and move on to the next, Jade admits she’s feeling a little nauseous. She says it’s not so much as to warrant them stopping the investigation, but it’s there. You swallow since you know that often time’s nausea is a sign of nearby malevolent spirits. You really feel like someone is watching you right now.  
  
John reaches to open the door, but immediately snatches his hand back with a surprised shout. Something that felt like electricity zinged through his hand and up his arm, but when Jane boldly places her hand on the knob, nothing happens. It’s just especially cold.  
  
When she opens the door, you are greeted with a darkness that not even the night vision on your cameras could cut through.  
  
You discover the reason why not long after, when the darkness moves towards you. It’s not just darkness, it’s a figure, tall and looming and threatening. There is no doubt in your mind that this is the giant figure Aradia saw. You skitter backwards, bumping into the wall as the frightened shouts of your teammates find your ears. The cameras fail to capture the shadow since everyone is too busy jumping away in fear to think of filming, and the ominous feeling in the air is palpable as it takes another step forward.  
  
That’s when you hear a voice you’ve yet to capture before but highly familiar, and you recognize it as the man that yelled ‘get out’.  
  
_For fuck’s sake, run!_ No one needs to be told twice. A low growl echoes after you, and a quick glance behind your shoulder through the camera provides you with the image of a young man with spiked blond hair. He’s standing bravely in front of the shadowed figure, keeping it from coming after you all. You are certain that this is the same thing Aradia saw.

  
  
You all keep sprinting until you make it to the door to the active hospital, bursting through and scaring a passing nurse into dropping her clipboard. Feferi comes by a bit later and guides you all to the waiting area, seating you on a couch and asking what happened. What you tell her makes her nod, you all must have seen the Makara patient. He’s the main reason they shut off that part of the hospital back in the fifties. The blond man, however, she doesn’t know about.  
  
John laments about the lack of a recording, but then you realize that you must have captured something when you looked back. Upon watching the tape, it reveals a blurry shot of the two figures that only come into focus for a split second before you turn the camera around again.  
  
Jade manages to pause the video at that exact moment so that everyone can inspect the frame, and you can make out two light glares from where the shadowed figure’s eyes would be. They’re trained straight after you, and even when you know you are far from him, a cold feeling settles into your very core that makes you glad you’ll be sharing the hotel room with everyone tonight because you do not want to sleep alone.  
  
The blond man keeping the figure away intrigues everyone. Who was he? Was he protecting you all? How did he die?  
  
And it looks like tomorrow you’ll be heading back to the psych ward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> special points if you can guess who everyone is


	36. Wish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I think my new schedule will be a new chapter every two days instead of once a day. It's so much more manageable!
> 
> So yes take this AU where Jake is a temple god that grants wishes kind of

Your name is Jake, or at least that’s what people call you. Either way, you are pretty sure that is your name. It’s been your name for a long time, so you aren’t too inclined to change it. It suits you just fine, you think.   
  
You hear the murmur of voices outside, the drop of coins and the splash of fountains. Hushed and quiet, respectful. The light streaming through the crack beneath the door tells you the sun is high. It illuminates dust, drifting through the air in a yellow mist.   
  
You can sense the people beyond the walls. They are asking things of you. Making wishes. The drop of coins and the splash of fountains. That’s all they ever do. Clink their change and toss it in the water. Ask you to grant their wish.   
  
They always make wishes that are too much for you. You can’t heal people. You can’t change their minds. You can’t improve appearance. You only have as much power as the things they offer. No one holds loose change dear. You might be able to grant larger wishes if they gave things equal of value to their desire, but they never do.   
  
And yet they still come here, with their money and their wants. It’s not often you find a wish you can actually make a reality. They always toss money for things larger than life.   
  
You’ve mended the torn arm of a doll and removed the rust from an old pot. You’ve helped people find lost items. Small wishes, that’s what you deal in. You can’t revive the dead, no one truly can. Indeed, you sympathize with them over their aching hearts, but there is nothing you can do save for carrying music to them on the breeze.   
  
The light peaking beneath the door gradually fades to orange. The voices are fewer now, their footsteps clacking up and down the steps. You hear the bell outside the door chime as someone pulls the string. Makes a wish. Please make my father well again.   
  
You would like to. You can’t. You are sorry.  
  
It’s not much longer before they leave, before everyone leaves. After a day of asking things of you, asking and asking and asking things you just don’t have the power to do with what little they offer, it’s finally quiet. There’s no longer any light beneath the door, no footsteps or coins clinking to the bottom of fountains. Only the serene sound of nature.   
  
You’ve memorized the schedule of the world by now. It’s safe to leave the temple at this hour. You raise from your spot on the wooden floor, your feet padding quietly as you hold out your hands and place them against the heavy door. It slides open easily, brushing against the walkway, shushed.   
  
Pillars hold the roof up, their vibrant greens and golds muted in the warmth of summer’s rising moon. The grass glows with the light of fireflies, their timid blinks a pleasant sight.   
  
You gather the coins at the bottom of the fountains and place them in the offering box at the foot of the stairs. They stare up at you, their sheen dull with no light to reflect but the occasional bug. Returning to the fountains, you dip your hand in to clean and purify the water.   
  
Cupping it, you raise the crystalline water to your lips. It tastes faintly sweet, the flavor of fresh rainfall. You sit at the edge of the fountain, keeping your sleeves from slipping into the water. The stars shimmer in the sky and catch in your eyes, and you count the ones that fall with glittering tails.   
  
Tomorrow you’ll get up, only to do this all over again. You sigh as you let your fingers trace the surface of the water. No one ever asked if you even wanted to be here. It’s just all you’ve ever known. You don’t understand why people still visit your temple, you can only grant useless wishes on useless change. You hold hardly any worth. A meretricious god.   
  
But even so the days pass you by and people come and go with gleaming coins and hopeful wishes. No, you can’t make a harvest bountiful. No, you can’t change infertility. No, you can’t make someone love another.   
  
Yes, you can replace the button on that satchel.   
  
It’s been like this for years. Day after day of requests with inadequate payment. So when the sky clouds over and threatens rain, you are glad when everyone packs up and leaves. It’s early in the afternoon and a soft pitter-patter replaces the murmurs of voices and clinks of coins.   
  
You are content to watch out the window, head lain across your arm in the drowsy weather. That’s when you hear footsteps, a little rushed as they splash down the muddy road. Drawing back, you peak at the approaching figure from the corner of the glassless window.   
  
He looks like a traveler, a large bag on his back and a hat that obscures his face as he watches his feet, making sure he doesn’t step in puddles. He spots your temple and turns up the path, his bags bouncing with each step. He comes to a stop by the fountains, slipping the bag off his shoulders and placing it on the edge, taking a seat himself.   
  
He rubs at where the straps dug into his skin and breathes a sigh. You can see the way his pants are tattered around the ankles. He must have been walking for a long time. You expect him to wish for something, but he doesn’t. He only sits there as the rain falls over him, waiting for the weather to pass. You can’t see his eyes since the brim of his hat casts a shadow over his face.   
  
The longer he sits there, the harder the rain falls. He’s been patient for hours now, but it’s getting darker. The temperature is dropping. His wet clothes do little to keep in heat. He pulls his knees to his chest and shivers a little. And this whole time, he hasn’t asked you for anything. No wishes, no tossed coins. Just the quiet of the rain and your curiosity.   
  
But the afternoon slips into evening like a hood drawn up, and evening falls into night with the droplets from the sky. He’s cold and exhausted, yet a wish has not left his lips.   
  
So you let the metal doors to the temple open, and he looks up to you in what you think is surprise. You stand there in your traditional garb, a hand keeping the heavy door from closing as you tilt your head. Ask if he’d like a place to stay for the night. Wind howls through and he has to hold his hat to keep it from blowing away. He nods, and you open the door a little wider. The traveler collects his bag and walks toward the temple, up the steps, stopping at the door.   
  
Thank you, he says, nodding his head in gratitude. Water drips from his hat and onto the wood floors. You gesture for him to come in. No one other than you has ever been inside.   
  
You dry his clothes and belongings with the touch of your hand. He asks if you are the spirit of this temple.   
  
Something like that, you admit. He sits with you on the floor. You inquire as to where he’s traveling. He shrugs. Nowhere, really. But he thinks he’ll know when he gets there. You hum in reply. You would like to travel as well, to see all that you can.   
  
He asks why you haven’t.   
  
The seals keep you from venturing too far. Trust me, I’ve tried, you tell him. He nods and removes his hat, running lithe fingers through locks of blond. You see his eyes for the first time, and they shame the hues of dusk with limns of amber sunlight. You’ve never known people to have such captivating eyes.   
  
You ask where he came from, and his only answer is a very long way from here.   
  
Do you ever miss it, you inquire.  
  
Sometimes. But I’m looking for something.   
  
He doesn’t know what it is he’s searching for, only that he’ll find it eventually.   
  
And so he stays in the temple, out of the rain for a night’s rest, leaving early in the morning. The rain has stopped by then and the air is sticky and humid. He thanks you again before you watch his back retreat down the path and along the street, disappearing around the corner.   
  
You don’t think you’ll see him again, but he surprises you.   
  
A month later, he comes back to your temple as dawn is on the rise. No one else has come yet, it’s too early for them. So the sound of footsteps is an anomaly.   
  
You find him looking around as he stands by the fountains, and you can’t help but open the doors to him again. You ask what brings him back, aren’t you supposed to be exploring the world, and he digs in his bag before pulling out a small oddly shaped bell.   
  
He found this on his travels and picked it up from the vendor for you. He figured if you couldn’t travel yourself, then he’d bring something back.

  
  
You cup the brass bell in your hands as a warmth spreads through your chest. You smile at him. Thank you.   
  
He stays with you that day, listening to the villagers come and go, the drop of coins and the splash of fountains. You learn his name, and the names of lands he’s been to. You talk with him, distracted from the people who only ever request. He asks if it’s always like this. You nod.   
  
When the people visiting your temple finally file out, he gets to his feet. Says that he should be going as well. And so you watch his form leave again, wondering if he’ll come again. Hoping he does.  
  
Another month passes, a long and dreary month, but you find him again at the foot of the temple with that same hat on his head. You let him inside and he pulls a scroll from his bag, handing it to you.   
  
When you open it, you find a map. Hand-drawn and labeled in gorgeous writing. It’s in a language you don’t understand, and you sit with him as he explains what it says. He points to places and tells you what he’s seen there, and you’re mesmerized by the sheer amount of cities he’s been to. When he speaks, it’s like he’s taking you there himself. You can nearly smell the sun’s heat on the dirt when he gets into the deserts, and you can almost hear the bustling crowds of outdoor markets. You so desperately want to visit them yourself, but you can’t. So you settle for him, for his stories, and sometimes you think that’s more than enough.   
  
He comes around every once in a while, bringing new trinkets like little vases and combs made from seashells and paintings of landscapes that you treasure with all your heart. He sits and talks with you and you are always so happy to have him beside you if only for a day before he goes away again.   
  
The things he’s given you decorate your temple, and they make the time between his visits a little less dreary than before. You can pour over the maps for hours daydreaming about having your own journeys, and there are clothes that he’s brought that still smell like the spices of faraway lands. Scrolls in languages you can hardly begin to understand spread over the altar with swirling arabesque patterns that dazzle you into tracing them with your eyes over and over again.   
  
Every time he leaves, you ache to follow. You aren’t sure if it’s just the call of adventure anymore.   
  
Spring is budding when he comes around again, late into the evening. You greet him and invite him inside with a smile. He only ever comes when it’s too early for people to be here yet or too late for them to stay.   
  
You are all too happy to have him spend the night again, and as you sit up talking you can’t help but wonder why he always comes back here. You are ecstatic that he does, but you don’t really know why.   
  
He asks if you’ve ever tried to break the seals keeping you here at the temple. You have. Many times. You don’t think it’s possible.   
  
What if you were to become human? Would they still work then?   
  
If you became human? You’ve never thought about that before. It’s obvious he’s thought about this a lot. You ask him why he’s brought it up all of a sudden. He shrugs.   
  
Still, the subject is one you can’t help but ponder. The seals were specific of a deity, so they couldn’t affect a human, right? How would you even go about becoming one? You look to him.   
  
Wish for me to be human. He does. But nothing he offers is enough to grant it. You frown, disappointed. He assures you that there must be a way. You aren’t so sure.   
  
The following morning you watch him leave again, and you are terribly sad to see him go. The things he’s given you keep you company over the next couple weeks, and you get to thinking.   
  
Maybe you can grant your own wish?   
  
You stare down at your hands as you blot out the voices beyond the door. What would you even give in return? Your eyes flick to the things he’s brought to you. You can hardly bear to part with any of them. But you guess that’s the point.   
  
You wait until he comes back again. It takes a little longer than usual, but it only makes you all the happier when you see him turn the corner. With him beside you, you’re a little more confident about this wish. You pluck the bell from its spot, the first thing he ever gave you and definitely the one you love the most. You cover it in your palm and ask to be human.   
  
It’s still there when you lift your hand. You sigh dejectedly. He wonders what could possibly be enough to grant your wish. You try giving the map, and then the map and bell combined, and then all the things he’s given you but your wish remains unrealized. Was it not enough? Was it too much? What else could you offer?  
  
He sits with you all day as you try to think of something, and then he stays with you all night. You sit with him on the edge of the fountains, watching as the stars ripple along the water’s surface.   
  
The moon watches overhead, a tarnished silver. You wonder if the moon would go on forever, the way you would unless you could shed your godhood.   
  
Would you go on forever? You have so far. As a god, you think it’s customary.   
  
But maybe you could  
  
Trade it out? The life of a god for the life of a human?   
  
So you get to your feet and stare upwards, at all the lights in the sky, at all the lights that would be one day. And you wish.  
  
You feel no different. But there’s only one way to know for sure.   
  
You run with him down to the edge of the temple grounds, looking up at the seals burned into the wooden posts. They’ve been your confines all your life. The warmth of anticipation tingles in your chest as you cast him a stare. He stares back, and you take a deep breath. Raise a foot and place it forwards.   
  
Nothing holds you back. So you take another step, and another and another until you’re on the other side of the dirt road. He’s beside you the whole time, watching your awed face with a grin.   
  
And then you laugh, grateful and jovial, and you turn on your heel to throw your arms around him. He catches you with that grin still on his face and you exclaim that you’re human, you’re human! And he keeps his arms linked tightly around you as he says it back, hell yeah you’re human!   
  
You pull away but keep close and you look straight into his eyes.   
  
Can I come with you when you leave?   
  
Definitely.   
  
And the next morning when you split the weight of his bag and set out, he says that he’s finally found what he’s been looking for.   
  
His eyes find yours.


	37. April (Chase)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter would be longer and the picture would be better but I was busy tearing up carpet and pulling staples out of the floor hah a

Your name is Jake English and you are currently lying awake in bed next to Dirk as you watch the digital clock flick from 7:02 to 7:03. Yesterday you had stayed over at his apartment to watch his baby brother with Roxy, and that was an ordeal to say the least.  
  
At the moment you are absently tracing patterns against his chest, and you feel incredibly safe just knowing he’s beside you. You can hear his heart beat slowly, calmly, like his worries have melted away. He exhales through his nose softly and his loose hold around your waist tightens a little, drawing you closer. You move your head from its position nestled in the dip beneath the edge of his collar bone to the space next to his neck, your forehead resting against the warmth of his skin. Outside, birdsong is muffled by the closed window as morning groggily rises, the sky a faint blue.  
  
A quiet rhythmic tapping draws your gaze to the window, and Dirk shifts his head toward the sound. His arms fall away from you as he gets up, hair tousled and messy. You hold yourself up on your arms, the blanket falling away from your abdomen and settling at the curve of your hips. Dirk unlocks the window and opens it, revealing a little bird who fluffs its wings and hops about at the sight of him. You slip your glasses from their spot on the nightstand and place them on your face so you don’t have to squint. It appears to be a chickadee, and Dirk holds out a finger for it to jump onto.

  
  
It calls to him, fidgeting on his hand as he nods along like he understands. You watch in mild awe at the scene, the little bird twittering loudly and floofing its feathers. It takes flight for a few moments to land on his shoulder, and its tail hangs down as it chatters. He walks around the bed and to the nightstand with the bird perched on its tiny stilt legs, and Dirk opens the drawer before reaching inside. He pulls out a plastic bag filled with what you believe are sunflower seeds, taking one out and holding it in his palm in front of the chickadee. The bird quickly snatches it up and flits back out the window, which Dirk closes shortly after. He replaces the bag inside the drawer as you ask what that was about.  
  
The birds around here keep lookout for me, he says. If they see Caliborn anywhere in the city, they’ll let him know. That was just a routine field report, though, so no worries.  
  
Incredible, you murmur as you look to the window again. He managed to make little watch-birds out of them! He says they wouldn’t do jack shit until he started offering them food. You laugh softly at this as you slide out of bed. Say you think you’ll leave sometime soon. Even if he did invite you these past two nights, you feel you’ve overstayed your welcome. He shakes his head, you’re always welcome here. At the sound of those words, your heart grows warm. You smile at him.  
  
You walk out of the bedroom with him as he goes to check on Dave, who is still laying soundly on the blanket surrounded by the now faint glow of coals. It seems they’ve cooled down overnight, yet you can still feel their heat from a few feet away. It’s no longer as overwhelming as before, only fairly warm. You notice the baby’s nose is no longer running, and his breath isn’t ragged as it was before. It seems he’s been rightfully rejuvenated, and for that you are glad.  
  
Afterwards, Dirk fetches your clothes, which you change into before handing the ones you were previously wearing back to him. Dave wakes up sometime in between and kicks his legs clumsily in the air, asking to be picked up. As you slide on your jacket, you watch as Dirk lifts him in his arms and pads off to the kitchen, mumbling something about bath time. You slip on your shoes, making your way over to tell him that you’re leaving now. He’s filling the sink a third of the way with hot water when you inform him, and he looks up and nods, shutting off the water. You walk over and place a light kiss on his cheek, to which he exhales sharply through his nose in a silent laugh and turns to place one against your cheek as well.  
  
You say goodbye before you go, and he replies with a ‘later’. The door shuts behind you.  
  
On your way down in the elevator, your phone vibrates. Jade is messaging you.  
  
GG: jake!  
GG: its april!  
GG: that means we have to find birthday presents for john and jane!  
GG: are you free today?  
GT: Why yes actually are you planning on meeting up?  
GG: i was hoping to yeah  
GG: glad you arent too preoccupied with your illicit lover hehe  
GT: Oh give it a rest jade you are bludgeoning a very dead horse.  
GT: It would like to be left alone in its post mortem state or at least im sure it would be quite unappreciative if it had any idea it was being smacked around.  
GT: Alas its cerebrum no longer functions so it has no train of thought whatsoever but i do believe it should be accorded the same respect shown to any other deceased majestic stallion!  
GG: oh no we cant allow any dead horse desecrations :o  
GG: well have angry horse ghosts!  
GT: My point exactly sort of!  
GG: but anyway do you want me to pick you up?  
GG: maybe we could go to the mall  
GT: I think that would be our best course of action yeah.  
GT: Can you give me an hour or so? Im not actually at my apartment right now and would like to freshen up a little.  
GG: youre not home?? :ooo  
GT: No? Is there something strange about that?  
GG: no not really i just have to wonder  
GG: do you have new marks on your neck??  
GT: Jade!!!!  
GG: that is so a yes :P  
GT: No its not!  
GG: it is!!  
GT: Well whatever you choose to think youll have to do it by your lonesome because im getting ready to start driving.  
GG: see you soon then! <3  
  
You toss your phone into the passenger seat of your car. Truth be told you’ve been sitting here for about two minutes just texting her but only now are you ending the conversation. Such are your prime sidestepping tactics.  
  
Ok they’re kind of really shitty sidestepping tactics but they work mostly alright you think! You don’t need to change anything at all.  
  
On your way home, you ponder what you could get for John and Jane. You all recently went out gambling and hustling people at pool so you have a rather pretty penny tucked within your wallet and you’re willing to spend it.  
  
Perhaps a bit of movie merch for John? Then again he already has loads of that. A new battle hammer? You’ve noticed the grip wrapped around the handle is starting to tear. You’ll talk it over with Jade.  
  
What for Jane? You’re pretty sure she’s already bought better measuring cups to replace the broken ones. She keeps her weapon in top shape too, so no upgrades to that are needed. You know she likes the show Parks and Recreation so maybe you can find something pertaining to that. Yeah, you really need to brainstorm with Jade.  
  
After you return to your apartment and clean yourself up a bit, you message her saying that she could come and pick you up now.  
  
Not too much later you’re riding shotgun in her car as you both exchange ideas as to what you could buy for their birthdays. You are both set on making this the best birthday yet! Of course, that’s what you say every year, but you are certain you’ve managed to live up to your word all the years prior so whatever.  
  
After arriving at the mall, you peruse the stores with her as you pick up trinkets that are completely useless but undoubtedly comical on some strange level of backwards humor. She shows you a small package of wings that are supposed to be attached to the laces on your shoes to make it look as if your feet could fly, and to be honest you kind of want them. Who wouldn’t, really? You buy a couple for your cousins.  
  
Then you find a rack of necklaces with these cool little swirly charms, and Jade adores them so she buys two for John and Jane.   
  
The two of you skitter around from store to store picking up things that would probably be funny while you waste time mostly. It’s always a treat to hang out with her in a situation not battle-oriented or in some kind of life-or-death peril. As such you both tend to go a little overboard when buying gifts.  
  
About five hours later you both leave with quite a few bags in your hands, but the fun isn’t over yet. Now you have to find gift boxes to present them in, which takes you to the party store.  
  
It’s not until you’ve spent a good six hours out and about that you both agree you’ve gotten a suitable amount of presents. The time is now two in the afternoon, and you are pretty glad she caught you at so early in the morning to go on this spree. Otherwise the weapons shop Mr. Slick runs would have closed before you got there. He always closes earlier than other establishments, but you know it’s because he’s into hunting as well.  
  
Jade pushes half the hull onto you when she drops you back off, saying that those are yours to wrap, and you lug them up to your apartment after she drives off. It doesn’t take you long to get everything neatly packed away in cute bags and boxes.  
  
Since you’ve been absent from roaming the city streets at night searching for the unseen malevolence of demons, you think that going out tonight wouldn’t be a bad idea. Besides, you’ve got all the birthday presents prepared already so you have nothing to take care of here. You are positively certain that their birthday bash will be superb! Nothing could go wrong!  
  
However it’s still kind of early to go on demon patrol, so you decide you’ll dally around in your apartment for a while before you leave. Maybe take a nap or something. It doesn’t really matter.  
  
After a suitable amount of time has been flung out the window and the sun begins to dip below the cityscape, you set out. Since you don’t have any particular targets in mind, you settle for walking around with your senses on high alert. Demons tend to give off a particular, rather faint aura. It’s difficult to pick it apart from an average human’s, but over the years you’ve become accustomed to the unique feeling.  
  
You get a message in a group text from John and Jane saying that they’re free to offer assistance if needed. Jade says that she’s busy, and you report your status as ready to help out if needed as well. Jade says she’s got it covered, though. You continue to wander through the city streets without a goal in mind. You run into the local hotdog vendor who offers you a cheery smile and a three dollar meal. You tell him maybe another time and he shrugs before going back to business.  
  
A rather uneventful evening is apparently in store for you as you stroll about until you feel that ever so subtle tug at the back of your mind when your eyes land on a woman with a sort of gaunt face. You can tell she’s a demon immediately when you look closer, her eyes are an unnatural lime green. She has a light peacoat-style jacket on in the early spring chill, and she’s walking with a bit of a contemplating look on her face. And then her gaze flicks up and catches yours. Shit.  
  
You are momentarily stunned, but just when you’re mind registers that you should probably look away, she gives you a warm smile. Before you know it she’s redirected her path and is headed straight for you, but no feelings of animosity roll off her at all. You have no idea what to do.  
  
Hello, she says, beaming. You’re a hunter, yes? I’d like to clear up any misunderstandings, I am not out to hurt people or cause any sort of harm whatsoever! Would you be so kind as to not tack me onto your list of demons to kill?  
  
You weren’t really prepared for that, and all you can do is nod dumbly in response. She laughs lightly and gestures for you to move with her out of the flow of people. How rude it would be to take up half the space and just stand there holding a conversation. You stand next to her out of the sidewalk traffic beside a building.  
  
Sorry to pull you aside so abruptly like this. I have a bit of an inquiry for you if it’s not too much trouble.  
  
You assure that it’s no trouble at all and she nods.  
  
As a hunter, do you know anything much about basilisks?  
  
Basilisks? You ask. You’ve never actually come face to face with one or even heard of another person hunting one. You are pretty sure they are kind of rare? You’d need to look them up, truth be told.  
  
She hums in reply, a little disappointed but she still gives you a smile and thanks you. You ask why she wanted to know about them.  
  
She’s looking for one, a rather nasty one, too. She has no clue where he could be, only that he is surely up to no good.  
  
If she’s looking for one, then shouldn’t she already know a fair amount about basilisks? She confirms that she does, yes, a bit extensively, but who knows, new knowledge could come from anywhere. It was a stretch, she supposes with a shrug. You apologize for not being able to help her in her search. She promises it’s quite alright, and then apologizes for bothering you. Then she offers a goodbye and is back on her way down the sidewalk. You watch her figure leave your vision as she turns a corner.  
  
Basilisks, huh?


	38. Wish (Bonus Chapter!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for Egbert_Strider_Vantas, who asked so nicely for another chapter from this AU!

Your name is Jake, the same name you've had for as long as you can remember. You don't know how long you've been alive. Centuries, maybe, your name has been gathering dust. But a while ago you shed your godhood for something so much more exciting, and whenever you hear your monicker on his lips it's as if he's blowing the dirt away.  
  
He's taken you all over and taught you so much, things you could never even imagine when you were moping about as a solitary lonely deity. Slang terms, customs of other lands, things different cultures perceive as bad luck. With him, you've been able to expand your knowledge on several subjects as well, like how it's best to give a firm handshake or the most efficient way to kick a door in. You don't know why you would need to know this, but you suppose you can never be too careful. You're actually kind of eager to try it, but you doubt any circumstance enabling you to knock a door off its hinges would ever arise.  
  
Ever since you became human, you've lost your ability to grant wishes, but you still feel the pull of the world, the way it yearns. Maybe it's just a phantom feeling left from your old life like fingerprints on glass. You aren't really sure, and you don't know if you should feel bad for not being able to help out even the little bit you did before. You remind yourself that you've helped since before the trees were thick and fat at their trunks. You can't grant useless wishes forever. What difference does it make if you chose to break the chain sooner rather than later? You've been alone for almost a millennia and now you have someone to spend a lifetime with. You wouldn't pass it up for the world.  
  
The sun has just slipped beneath the horizon when the two of you check into an inn for the night. The floorboards creak in places and the rugs are a little tattered, but it only adds to a homey feel. The key to your room needs to be jiggled a little to get the lock to spring open, but the bed inside is clean and freshly made. It smells like wood and linens, and you are both glad to let your bags fall from your shoulders and rest.  
  
You light the candle on the little table beside the bed, casting a faint warm glow throughout the room. The flame quivers with its light as the wax begins to melt into clear drops, preparing to run down the neck of the candle riddled with cooled excess. With the dimness chased away, you can see the way his hair is swept to the side when you take a seat beside him, the way the tiny flicker of fire dances in his eyes like ripples on water.  
  
Strange, you think, that fire would compare in fluidity to busy springs. Then again, they are a syzygy of power. Equal parts opposite as they are the same. It reminds you of him, of yourself.  
  
He runs nimble fingers through his hair, you've noticed he's quite meticulous about keeping a tidy appearance. You've noticed a lot of things about him, like the way brown freckles dot his shoulders, not just his face. The way the little dimple in his left cheek always gives away when he wants to smile. The way he looks at you when he thinks you don't see; softly, like the fuzzy light of embers.  
  
You wonder things about him, too. How he always smells like the tangy sweetness of oranges and how he can go for so long without sleep.  
  
You wonder why he still travels, even when he says he's found what he's been looking for. You ask him. The dimple on his cheek makes an appearance.  
  
He tells you that it's precisely because he's found you that he keeps traveling. You don't really know what he means.  
  
He travels to see the way you smile at the world, how you find the value and worth in everything. It's inspiring, he shrugs, seeing the way you look about in splendor at the horizon and how it's sure to bring new and better experiences. You get this gleam in your eyes that shows just how happy you are - that's the one, you're doing it right now.  
  
You grin at him and he grins back, and you lean in close to touch your lips softly against his.

Your hand finds its way to the curve of his cheek and it lingers when you pull away, resting your forehead against his.  
  
Thank you, you whisper to him, and he wants to know what for.  
  
For finding me.  
  
He kisses you again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Jake in the traditional clothes I was talking about in the first chapter of Wish!  
> [](http://tinypic.com?ref=rsez9x)


	39. Royal Affairs Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm super sorry, but there aren't any pictures this chapter :(  
> My computer has been acting awfully and my tablet is just not functioning, so I have no way of getting a quality picture to you at the moment. Also a huge apology for getting this out so late into the day, it wasn't finished and my writing day was taken up completely by clearing out my room so that a new floor can be put down.  
> Pretty please tell me if there are any mistakes because this was literally just completed.  
> \---Edit: I've added the picture!

Your name is Dirk Strider and you are currently lighting the candles on a chandelier. To be honest you'd rather pee lightning than be up here on this creaky ladder with fire flickering right in front of your face. Someone has to do this, though, and it apparently wasn't about to be the girl holding your ladder steady. She calls up to you, you're doing great Dirko, just a few more!  
  
You make the mistake of looking down at her and your stomach lurches with cold. God, you are really high up. You exhale slowly through your nose and light the remaining candles, being careful not to burn yourself.  
  
After double-checking that you've lit them all, you begin your descent down the ladder. Now that you're moving, it's a hell of a lot shakier, and you are forced to go slowly which sucks because you would really like to be on solid ground right now. The girl calls up again, it's alright man I got ya, no worries. However you can't help but be very worried since you don't even know how old this ladder is. What if the steps broke under your weight? You would totally fall off. Your bones would be so broken. You would quite literally die. Then they'd just roll you up in a sheet and toss you somewhere before carrying on with the festivities. You doubt they would postpone the celebration because some servant went accidentally plummeting to his untimely death.  
  
Luckily your feet make contact with the glossy tiled floors and you give a sigh of relief. Thanks, Roxy, you tell the girl. She smiles and pats you on the back, congratulating you on a job well done. She promises that she'll be the one to go up later and blow them all out. You nod and help her take down the ladder.  
  
You have to strategically maneuver around the tables in order to get out without knocking everything over, and she carries the front end while you hold the back. Roxy has to tuck the ladder over her shoulder in order to get the door open, and soon enough you're walking down the halls of the palace to return the ladder to its rightful place.  
  
You see her far ahead of you, the wood still perched over her shoulder as her flaxen hair bounces with each step. The servant's clothes she's wearing are similar to yours in that they're plain and loose-fitting, however hers has a skirt while yours have trousers.  
  
You're glad that this place is so large, it makes turning around corners much easier. Once you put away the ladder, you split paths since you both have things to attend to before the party tonight. The royal family always throws such grandiose balls when the anniversary of Prospit's establishment rolls around. They have a lot of pride in their country, you guess.  
  
You are supposed to help clean the hallways, and while you're at it, also the royal corridors. If everything else is supposed to be scrubbed till it sparkles, might as well do the last bit, too.  
  
There are already several other servants cleaning the halls, so you pick up a rag and join them. It's slow work, since the space to clean is wide and stretches far ahead. On your hands and knees, you clean the tiles with the others until the water in the bucket needs replacing. It's turned a murky shade of soapy brown from collecting the dirt tracked in by everyone who walks through, and you volunteer to refill it with clean water.  
  
It sloshes in its container when you pick it up, and you are careful not to spill any because you just cleaned that floor. The nearest faucet is at the end of the corridor, just before the rooms of the royal family. Without fanfare, you dispose of the dirty water and rinse the bucket, refilling it. The other servants have soap with them, so you set out to carry the water back, but you are stopped by someone calling for you. Asking if you could spare a tick of time.  
  
You turn and bow your head respectfully at Prince Jacob, who had just opened his door. Of course, Your Highness, you say. How can I be of service? He gestures you forward and tells you he's having trouble with the clasps on the back of his jacket. He can't reach back there much, not with the precision it takes to button them. You nod and step forward, head angled downwards so that all you can see of him are his shoes.  
  
Upon entering his chambers, you set the bucket on the ground. He turns his back to you, and you reach out to begin with the clasp on the bottom of his jacket. The metal is cold, clashing with the warmth of the soft fabric, and you clip the first one together before moving on to the next.

You make quick progress with dexterous fingers, buttoning all the clasps to the top of his collar. It almost reaches where his dark hair begins, and you are glad that you are not the one having to wear it because it's looks rather restricting. After straightening it, you step back and announce that you are finished. He turns to you, and you quickly avert your gaze to your feet again. You ask if he is in need of anything else.  
  
He seems to remember something, and points to a handsome grandfather clock sitting against the wall. It's not working, he'd like someone to come and fix it. You nod and assure him that you will look into the matter as soon as possible. He thanks you and says you are free to leave. You almost pull a strange face at the sound of being thanked. No one in the royal family ever thanks servants. No one in the history of royal families ever thanks servants. What the fuck? What a weird guy.  
  
You keep your gaze lowered as you retrieve the bucket of water and head out the door, only straightening when it closes behind you.  
  
The afternoon continues as it was before, and the halls are cleaned and polished just as they should be. You help set tables in the room where you were previously lighting candles in, and the high vaulted ceilings still kind of turn your stomach cold. It's not that you're afraid of heights, more so of falling. You focus on making sure the silverware is straight and shining instead.  
  
Soon enough, the cusp of evening sends you to the baths, cleaning yourself up so that afterwards you may don your slightly fancier servant clothing and serve drinks to the guests of nobility in the ballroom. Your knees are bruised blue from cleaning the floors, and they ache when prodded.  
  
After you've bathed, you make your way again to the ballroom. People are beginning to file in, clad in their most intricate and dashing garb. You, among many other servants, begin walking about and offering refreshments. People are quick to take champagne, and you have to get more flutes several times as the ballroom steadily becomes more and more crowded.  
  
The orchestra is playing gently in the corner, and you can see Roxy's sister elegantly dragging a bow across the strings of her violin. Roxy herself should be somewhere in here, but it's hard to find her amidst all the party-goers. Then again, you aren't actually looking for her. You're more concerned with making sure you don't run into any dancing partners or spill champagne down the front of someones clothes.  
  
The sweet scent of cake winds it's way to your nose as the party wears on, but it has to fight to overpower that of the alcohol you're toting about. You can smell lots of other things over it, all the foods they prepare for these celebrations. You're a little envious, really. Servants are only fed bread and cheese, and you aren't permitted to take any food from the banquet on the tables.  
  
The festivities have been in full swing for a good long while now, but a glance at the time tells you there are still a few hours to go. You sigh and look back to the enormous ballroom, nobles and people of high class enjoying the evening decorated with lavish gowns and sweeping music.  
  
You hand out the last drink on your tray and move to fetch more, gravitating to the sides of the room for an easier path. No one dances right up against the wall, and the area is mostly occupied by wallflowers who prefer to watch the festivities. You make sure to always offer them refreshments since you understand that it's hard to feel involved sometimes.  
  
When you pass by a curtain framing the entrance to a balcony, you hear your name whispered. You turn your head subtly and find Roxy peaking out from behind the drapes, her rosey eyes catching the glittering light of the candles above.  
  
Don't make it obvious, she murmurs, gesturing for you to join her. You tuck your tray beneath your arm and inconspicuously slip behind the curtain beside her. With the lights blocked by thick fabric, it's rather dark within, but you can still sort of see her face. You greet her with your normal 'hey'.  
  
She greets you back and takes hold of your hand, placing something small inside of it. You squint at it, about to ask what it is until you smell the richness of it. She gives a vulpine grin.  
  
Did you steal this? You ask, a grin of your own pulling at the corners of your mouth.  
  
They have plenty, she shrugs. Besides, she got it for you! You ask if she expects you to believe she didn't nick one of her own. She laughs and tells you to eat it before you get caught.  
  
You pop the square of chocolate in your mouth and let it melt on your tongue, thanking her. She smiles, joyfully mischievous, before ushering you out once again. People would start getting suspicious if they heard disembodied voices from behind the ornate drapes. You make sure no one saw you. Even if you aren't allowed to eat any of the food, it isn't about to stop Roxy from getting to it. She is simply the best there is.  
  
You continue on your way to replenish your supply of sparkling champagne, edging around people and dodging dancers, when you notice Prince Jacob in the midst of a waltz with a lovely girl in a cerulean gown. It reminds you that his clock is broken, and since he is out and away from his chambers, now is probably the best time to fix it. You're sure the guests can handle the absence of one servant, there are so many tending to their needs already.  
  
You brush through the kitchen doors and place your tray with the others before setting off to grab a box of tools. The sound of the ball grows faint and distorts the farther away you walk, and soon it's merely a buzz in your ears with soaring crescendos from the orchestra peaking through the static every so often. Once you retrieve some tools, you head for the prince's chambers, your footsteps echoing emptily through the winding hallways. Nearly all the servants are tending to the party, so the corridors are eerily devoid of life. It's much quieter though, not to mention cooler from the lack of numerous twirling bodies giving off their stuffy heat. You feel like you can finally breathe again, even though you've had no trouble with it the entire evening. The cold air must be what's so rejuvenating. You should sneak away from these parties more often.  
  
You find your way to the lofty doors of the prince's chamber, pushing them open and stepping inside. His bed sits perfectly made in the center of the far wall, emerald curtains pulled back on golden ties. On either side is a window leading out to a splendid view of the kingdom, its hues tinted in the dimness of the moon's languid light. You are not here to ogle at the grandness of his room, however. You walk straight to the offending clock piece and begin searching for hiccups. The hands aren't touching, and the weights don't seem to be off. You slip an arm behind the clock, slowly easing it around so that you could open the back up and see why the works have stopped moving.  
  
The gears and coils sit still, shining up at you in sly brass. You touch a finger to one of the pivot oil sinks, rubbing the lubricant between your thumb and forefinger. The material has grown viscous and gathered grime, so you deduce it hasn't been oiled in a couple years. It's a simple fix, one your brother has taught you how to tackle, and you should be in and out in five to ten minutes.  
  
You set the weights properly before removing the rear plate, counting eighteen pivots on each side. Using a soft cloth, you wipe the dips clean of tacky lubricant. Once you remove the dirt, you use a needle-like dropper to place minuscule amounts of oil in the pivots, the liquid held in place by surface tension. You make careful progress, each little indent shown the utmost care. If you forget to devote attention to one, it could spell disaster for the rest of the clock, so you make absolutely sure you've gotten them all before turning it over and starting on the other side. The front of it is a little tricky, since some pivots are hidden behind levers, so you take your time and look over each gear and pinion with steady hands.  
  
It's about this time that you hear the door open, jolting you out of your trance. You turn to find the prince standing in the doorway, a finger tugging the collar of his jacket away from his neck. Immediately, you bow and offer your apologies, you hadn't expected him to return during the festivities and hoped to have it fixed before they ended. You will leave as soon as the clock has been properly cared for.  
  
He waves a hand and assures that you are fine, there's no need to rush. He just wanted to get away from the party for a while, entertaining so many guests is exhausting. Actually, he doesn't think he'll be returning tonight.  
  
The prince continues to pull at his collar, and you can tell it's causing discomfort. You ask if he'd like you to undo the clasps on the back and remove it. He nods, and you lightly place the rear frame on the desk beside you before walking over to him, keeping your head down. He turns, and once again you adroitly unclip the fasteners, beginning at the top and working your way down. By now, the metal has absorbed the heat of his body and is rather warm compared to the coolness of your fingers. Every one of them comes undone with a satisfying clicking sound, and once they've all been pulled apart you slide it off his arms. The collar has left a ring around his neck, and he rubs at it as you offer to put it away for him.  
  
He breathes a sigh and says that would be excellent of you, so you calmly walk over to his wardrobe and hang it up, buttoning the first, middle, and last clasp so that it sits correctly and the fabric won't wrinkle. While you tend to it, he inspects the grandfather clock. Asks what was wrong with it. You inform him that it was only in need of a little greasing. If it doesn't work after you finish oiling it, you would get your brother to take a look.  
  
Splendid, he says before stepping away from it. You take this as your cue to resume working on it, and you quietly return to the spot to pick up the plate again. As you check and oil the remaining pivots, he watches curiously. You don't mind the audience, and after a short time you replace the plate in the body and make sure the weights are properly adjusted. After you are sure nothing else is wrong that meets the eye, you reach to wind the clock, hearing the chattering gears with each twist of your wrist. As you turn the key, the hands begin to move, ticking to life once more. You set it to the correct time.  
  
Fantastic, the prince says enthusiastically, and he thanks you for fixing it. There he goes again, with his weird statements of gratitude. You modestly tell him that it was a pleasure to assist. If it stops in the near future, you say that he should call for Dave Strider.  
  
Is that your name, he asks, to which you respond in the negative. That is your brother's name.  
  
What is your name, then? he inquires, and you respond appropriately. You wonder why he is bothering to ask. You are just a servant and he will likely forget it by tomorrow.  
  
Ah, I see, he says. Could you turn towards me? It's hard to place a name without a face, see.  
  
You bite the inside of your cheek and express your concerns. It is extremely rude and disrespectful for a person of your status to look directly at a member of the royal family. He tells you that he thinks those traditions are complete baloney, he doesn't mind. If you could, he would really appreciate it.  
  
Swallowing, you turn to hesitantly meet his gaze, and his eyes are a lot greener than they appear in paintings. He flashes you a smile, a heart-breakingly charming smile with endearing crooked teeth. Says that he'll be sure to remember your name now. You thank him for his kindness and ask if there is anything else he needs you to do, returning your gaze to the floor. He says that that is all, and you are free to go.  
  
With a bow and a 'your highness', you pick up the toolbox and exit his chambers, walking quickly down the halls. You return the tools and enter the ballroom again, resuming your role in passing out fizzing champagne. The celebration carries on until the gleam of the sun dances into the sky, announcing the end of the gathering. Horse-drawn carriages line up at the entrance, and you assist people down the long set of marble stairs since their sobriety levels are fairly low and a tumble like that could snap bones. After everyone has been seen to their carriage, you help to clean up the ballroom alongside many other servants. You are all dead tired after working through the day and night, and lament over the fact that you'll still have to wake up bright and early in the morning. Technically, it's already morning, so you have a good two or three hours before you have to be up and at it again. Oh well, you think as you gather dirty plates and glasses. The worst that'll probably happen is that you'll get bags beneath your eyes.  
  
Once the room has been cleaned of any trace of parties, Roxy climbs the ladder as you hold it steady. She blows out the candles, and when she comes back down she says that the height really is unsettling. Again, you aren't afraid of the height, but of the falling, and more prevalently, the sudden stop.  
  
You both retire to the servants quarters for the short time you are permitted to rest, and it's already crowded by others who are eager for respite. You join them, your aching knees relieved from their bruised burdens for a short while. Your dreams are laced in familiar verdant, dreams you won't remember later.  
  
In the small hours you are unconscious, a failed assassination attempt is made on the prince's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because a new minific is exactly what everyone needs


	40. Ghost Hunt - Night Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I don't have any pictures since I'm still having troubles with my computer. I had to completely reset it back to factory default settings and wipe my files clean, so I need to reinstall my tablet and my drawing applications and really everything else. 
> 
> This chapter is also newly completed, so if you see any mistakes, let me know!
> 
> \---Edit: The picture has been added!

Your name is Jake English and you are reviewing the content you gathered with everyone last night at the hospital. Aradia has joined you, and she is absolutely delighted at the amount of activity you experienced. She points to the frame where you captured the Makara patient and says that that’s exactly what she saw, and she’s so glad you caught it on camera because it’s really fantastic evidence of paranormal activity. It boggles her mind a little that there are people who are completely adamant about not believing in ghosts. There’s so many documentations, she says, and this one is a gem. Aradia is also very curious about who could be moving the gurneys around. A lot of the files from when the hospital was active were mysteriously lost, which is strange because it was almost as if someone had selected files by hand and hid them away. It makes it extremely difficult to look up information on the patients who were treated here, so there’s no telling who could be riding boisterously down hallways on hospital equipment.  
  
They do still have Makara’s file, though, however the rest of his name looks as if it was deliberately cut out. There’s just a neat rectangular hole in the paper. Much of his file has been tampered with, actually. Why he was admitted to the psych ward is blacked out by a heavy coating of ink that bleeds through to the other side, all you can gather from them are that he was extremely violent toward the staff and the other patients. Always on edge about something. Muttering and screaming. Nothing is written about his treatment or how he died.  
  
Jane studies the file with squinted eyes for a bit before booting up her laptop and typing his name into the browser. The first thing that comes up is a facebook page for someone with the same surname. She alerts everyone and soon you’re all scanning over the profile of one Gamzee Makara, who you are pretty sure made a page for the pure sake of shitposting. You find a picture of someone with a giant mass of bread duct-taped around their head, so their face is completely obscured, but it does give you all a much needed laugh. Wondering if he’s somehow related to the apparition of the patient, John sends him a message over the chat system.  
  
He responds back almost immediately, typing in alternating cases and asking how the motherfuck you found his profile with a smiley emoji. John explains that you’re a group that investigates ghosts, and that Gamzee has the same last name of a patient who was treated at Saint Greston’s. Gamzee informs you that you’re talking about his great grandfather. That guy had some problems, he says. I’m sure he was cool, though.  
  
John continues to talk with him for a bit, finding that he lived in the area and that he was alright with being interviewed on the matter. You are kind of eager to meet the guy who posted ‘YoU kNoW iTs CoLd OuT wHeN yOuR nIpPlEs CoUlD kIlL a MaN’.  
  
The J-team sets out to locate his place of dwelling, typing the address he sends you into the GPS. He lives about thirty minutes away in a surprisingly large house. When Jane knocks, he is quick to answer, and immediately you are hit with a smell like dirt and oily herbs accented by a lemony undertone. You glance at Jade, and she glances back with a knowing look in her eyes.  
  
Gamzee invites you all inside, and the smell only grows stronger with every step you take. You are pretty sure John and Jane have figured it out, too. You are all led to a comfortable lounge area full of plush chairs and couches that don’t seem to have any color or pattern coordination whatsoever. The air is musky and warm, and you and Jane go about finding places to set cameras for the interview. You find quite a few bags of things so poorly hidden you wonder if he cared at all if you saw, but you make no comments since you are only here for information. Once you’ve gotten the lighting and placement of cameras taken care of, Gamzee is more than happy to provide all the information he knows about his great grandfather.  
  
He shows you old and yellowed newspapers from the 1920s, the headlines announcing gruesome murder cases where the victims’ organs were removed preceding the body being bludgeoned past the point of recognition. John leafs through them, reading bits and pieces aloud as you peer over his shoulder, your eyes darting over the chilling stories. Black and white photographs of police tape and pictures of families crying over dead bodies plaster the delicate pages. The cases span over the length of several years before Makara is caught by authorities and put on trial. The court deems him criminally insane and arranges for him to be locked away in a padded cell for the rest of his life.  
  
Once everyone has read through the articles, Gamzee says that some shit just doesn’t up and make motherfuckin’ sense. Why would he take their organs if all he wanted to do was bash some skulls in? Why would they send a convicted murderer to a public hospital instead of an actual asylum? What the motherfuck, you know? John nods along, obviously very intrigued by this new information and eager for more. He asks Gamzee if he has any theories regarding those questions.  
  
Unfortunately, he does not. He can’t draw any ends from it, it makes so little sense. Jade asks if they ever found the organs of the victims, and he shakes his head no. Those were long gone, and the guy wouldn’t say what he did with them either. A real mystery if he’s ever heard of one. A look of determination crosses Jane’s face. She really wants to solve this case. You are curious to know the answers as well, but you don’t know if returning to the abandoned hospital tonight is the best idea now that you’ve got the full scoop of this Makara patient. If spirits could drag your cousin across the floor, what else could they do?  
  
Of course, the danger isn’t about to stop any of your team from going back in there. You really hope nothing bad happens.  
  
When you return to the hospital before evening, Feferi greets you cheerfully. You all share what you learned from Gamzee, and it has her eyes widening fearfully. She had no idea what lurked just beyond the walls was so terrible. No wonder the spirits are so mean!  
  
Jokingly, Jade offers for her to accompany you all when you go investigating for the night, to which she shakes her head vigorously. The ghosts really really don’t like her in particular for some reason, she has no clue why. She has absolutely no desire whatsoever to go in there, especially not at night! She can see you to the door, but that’s it, really. John assures her that they won’t make her accompany the group, and she smiles, relieved.  
  
As the evening begins, you regrettably find yourself again in the abandoned section of the hospital. The hallways are shadowed in the breath of night, and John remembers that yesterday you left a few devices around before you all ran off in fear. The first thing you do is navigate through the pitch dark halls to find the crumbling maternity ward, checking the recorder left behind. The temperature gets colder and colder the farther in you venture, and inside the room there has to be at least a thirty degree difference from normal. The recorder in question is not where you left it, it is on the other side of the room drained of battery life. Jade pockets it to listen to later.  
  
John asks if the spirit from last night is still here, and the response is the room dropping even further in temperature. You can see everyone’s breath through your camera, wisps of fog with every exhale. You document the occurrence and John shows you the prickling goosebumps on his arms, which you capture on camera. Jane takes out her digital recorder and asks if the spirit knows anything about Makara.  
  
_Why are you here again?_ The spirit asks back. _It’s dangerous_ , she warns.  
  
We’re here to learn about you, Jane says. We want to help you. Do you know who crashed the gurney down the hall last night? Was it the nurse you were talking about?  
  
_Not the nurse._  
  
Who was it, then? Inquires John.  
  
_One of them_ comes the vague reply.  
  
One of them? You ask, but no response is given.  
  
Can you tell us about the nurse?  
  
_Awful_ is the bitter answer.  
  
Awful how? Jade questions.  
  
No sooner do the words leave her lips than a small orb of light makes itself known in the doorway. Gasps are sucked in as everyone notices, and you scramble to catch the happening on video. It begins to drift away, its glow weakly illuminating skittering cockroaches and rats. John is the first to cautiously pursue the orb, followed slowly by everyone else.  
  
The air is creeping with cold and silence as you quietly pad after the strange light anomaly down the halls. You wonder if it's leading you somewhere, perhaps to more answers? You are a little doubtful.  
  
No one is speaking, only carefully trailing after the orb. Sometimes it blinks out, only to reappear and continue floating through the halls. Other times it brightens to the similarity of a flashlight before dimming back to normal. You keep your camera trained directly at it, and you are sure everyone else is doing the same. The show is going to have so much footage of this weird mass of light. You're pretty sure that it's a partial manifestation of a spirit, perhaps the one you were just speaking with. It is not a far fetched theory, and you choose to believe it until otherwise proven.  
  
As the light gleams off the walls, it seems to shiver in the air before dissolving completely, casting everyone into darkness once more. Upon observing your surroundings, you realize you are right back where you started. The orb has led you to the door out of the abandoned section. It obviously wants you to leave, but you don't think anyone is about to.  
  
John immediately launches into a silence-shattering explanation of what just happened for the cameras, and you all pitch in to describe the strange turn of events. He acknowledges that the orb was almost certainly guiding them out, but he announces for both the video recordings and the spirits that no one is leaving yet. And then, so faint that you aren't sure you actually heard it, a sigh sounds. It's too far away to have come from anyone in your group. You quietly ask if anyone else heard it, but only Jane did.  
  
Jade suggests that you all go back to see if you could contact the female spirit again, and John agrees that she seems pretty open to talking with you.  
  
With only the night vision of your camera, you navigate to the maternity ward again, the distinct feeling of eyes boring into the back of your skull becoming more and more apparent. With an unsettled shiver, you check the space behind you. Nothing is there.  
  
Once you reenter the room, Jade switches on the spirit box and asks what the orb of light was.  
  
_Dolly_ is the scratchy reply, and you think you detect a hint of fondness in her voice.  
  
Who is Dolly? Inquires John over the white noise of the instrument.  
  
_She was a doctor_ , answers the spirit.  
  
Was she a good doctor?  
  
_The best_ , she says. Almost saved her life.  
  
Almost? What went wrong?  
  
_The nurse._  
  
This notorious nurse seems to be a common negative theme throughout this part of the hospital, and for once you are terribly curious to know what she could have done to cause eternal unrest in so many souls. Surely it must have been unspeakable, this place is on the brink of overflowing with ghosts who have an anger-driven attitude towards her. The spirit in the ward is no longer answering any of your questions, so everyone decides to move on to something else. The first hour of the night has slipped by in the cover of darkness, and you can only hope that the rest will be so calm.  
  
John announces that now seems like a good time for everyone to split off alone, since some ghosts are intimidated by large groups. Oh, Christ, you knew this would happen eventually. He always likes to get everyone to go off by themselves. Not only does it encourage spirits, but it's good for ratings. Dread rushes through you like unbearably heavy weights as your bones begin to feel like ice again.  
  
Jane designates this particular room in the maternity ward as where everyone should meet up in about three hours or so. She tells the team that she'll visit the oncology unit and see if any spirits are there. Jade volunteers to go to the renal unit, and John wants to check out the Accident and Emergency department. You suppose you'll find the General Surgery area, since there is no way you are exploring the psych ward by yourself.  
  
Jade wishes everyone luck and implores you to stay safe before you split up. Now that you are walking alone, the hospital is so much more scary than before. Even your footsteps are off-putting, the way they echo dully and dissipate into static silence. The scampering of rats scratches at the quiet, and the scuttling of beetles has you shuddering involuntarily. The double doors to the General Surgery unit loom in front of you, and with a steeling gulp you push them open, walking through.  
  
The halls look just like the others, dark and littered with over fifty years of grime. You walk the corridors slowly, murmuring to the camera that the temperature feels normal at the moment. The echoes of your feet distort through the many rooms, stretching out before you in a shadow-muddled grainy blur. Everything you see, you see through the eye of the camera. In order to show how dark it is for the future audience, you flip the switch from night vision to normal, and all of your senses are plunged into an oppressive pitch black that makes it a little hard to breathe. You turn back to night vision quickly after you've made your point, but your heart jumps into your throat when you see the flash of a figure through the camera. It's gone in an instant, but you know you saw it, and your limbs chill even further as you back against a wall. Goodness, you are positively terrified of what could happen, so much so that your voice escapes you and you fail to discuss it on video. You search every which way for the figure, but it's seemingly disappeared. With a few unsteady breaths, you continue on your way through the halls.  
  
You find a room that looks as if the door has fallen off its hinges, and shakily enter to a surgery area. The trays are empty, but you are sure they once held scalpels and surgical scissors among other tools.  An overhead lamp hangs like a wilted flower, the lightbulb shattered to bits. Glass litters the floor in dangerously ominous gleams, and you make a mental note to be careful around them. With a grunt, you clear your throat so that your voice won't be meek when you begin talking.  
  
Are there any spirits with me? You ask. Nothing happens.  
  
If there are, could you please give me a sign that you're here? Is your respectful request. Again, nothing happens, and you are about to ask another question when a knock sounds against the doorframe. You give a quiet gasp and turn to the entrance, but no explainable reason for the sound can be detected.  
  
Could you tap against that again for me?  
  
It doesn't take so long for another knock to sound. The air grows steadily frigid, and your gut twists uncomfortably as you take out a spirit box and turn it on, engulfing the silence in that familiar grating white noise.  
  
Can you talk to me?  
  
Through the scratchy sound, a voice soars through.  
  
_Yeah._  
  
It's a male voice, you deduce, and you continue with your questions.  
  
What is your name?  
  
He doesn't answer that. Instead, he asks one of his own.  
  
_Why are you here again?_  
  
You remember the female spirit in the maternity ward asking the very same thing.  
  
You are here to put the pieces of this case together and find out why the souls here are unable to rest. You inquire again of his name. There is a notable pause, and for a moment you think he might have left, but then a he speaks again.  
  
_Dirk._  
  
May I ask how you died?  
  
There's a huff of a derisive laugh before he says he went out just like pretty much all the others. You take immediate notice that he seems capable of speaking to you without effort, something rather rare in spirits.  
  
The nurse? You provide.  
  
_You got it_ , he confirms.  
  
What did she do to the patients? He responds that she did lots of things, but she stole his heart. Literally.  
  
You blanch a bit at this. It seems malpractice ran rampant behind the curtains here. You ask what her name is, but he refuses, he can't say. She'll come here if she hears her name. He doesn't want to risk it. You don't want him to risk it, either.  
  
Were you who the shadow I saw before?  
  
Oh, yeah, he says. He tried for a full body, but that didn't work out apparently. Sorry, he didn't mean to frighten you. Or maybe he did. Would it make you leave if he scared you? Because you should definitely leave. The giant homicidal bastard he prevented from getting to you before isn't the only person you should be worried about.  
  
So he's the blond man from last night?  
  
Yeah, that was him too.  
  
The air surrounding you begins to dip even further in temperature, but it's so slight that you wonder if you're imagining things. Dirk curses and tells you to turn off the spirit box. You question why, but then the battery in it drains completely. The grating fuzz cuts out with a crackle, and in the newfound quiet, the steady clacking of footsteps echo down the hall.  
  
You hear his voice again, hushed, telling you to hide. Your legs feel like lead, frozen and stiff, but the approaching sound of high heels convinces you to quickly shuffle into a corner. You hardly dare to breathe as your pulse jumps about frantically, the click of shoes approaching at a pace unsettlingly slow.

  
  
As the sound passes by the door, the low chuckle of a woman's voice drifts to your ears before the footsteps continue on. Relief floods through your veins as the steps recede away, disappearing into the shadowed hospital labyrinth. You sigh out the breath you were holding, leaning against the wall as you focus on steadying your heartbeat. You whisper to Dirk, asking who that was, but no one responds. It seems he's left.  
  
You stick around until it's time to return to the maternity ward, mostly because you're not very keen on exploring these halls by yourself and would rather wait where you feel safest than flounce about with violent unstable murderers. You have more than enough video for the show.  
  
Quickly and quietly, you find your way to the meeting point. Jane is already there, and not long after the rest of your team congregates back together. Everyone discusses what they've seen and heard.  
  
Jane goes first. In the oncology unit, she came across a rather hot-tempered spirit. She says that it seemed to be a male ghost by the voice, and she plays back a few recordings of colorful expletives and scalding yet vaguely humorous insults. She didn't find much else, and the spirit seemed more interested in being rude than answering questions.  
  
John shows everyone the recordings of when he was in the A&E department. It's of a wheelchair that seems to be moving of its own accord, sullenly inching along the corridor. He didn't capture any EVPs, but he's pretty sure there's someone there.  
  
Jade says that she didn't have much luck in the renal unit, and that everything was pretty quiet and calm. Nothing paranormal related happened, but she did make friends with a rat!  
  
You share your experience with them, and they are stunned by how fluently the spirit communicated. You play the video recording back for them and they gather around the small screen, infinitely intrigued.  
  
What was up with this nurse, John murmurs. You would really like to know as well, but the information you have of her is sparse and you don't even have her name to do any research.  
  
After reviewing all the information and discussing it on camera, you only have a couple hours left before the sun rises. Jane says that everyone should revisit the psych ward as the last stop for the night.  
  
The whole walk there, your stomach feels like it's upside-down and your instincts implore you to reconsider and turn around, but you follow after your team into the familiar halls where the Makara patient resides. You feel at least a little more at ease when you have everyone with you, but it doesn't change the fact that the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end out of fear.  
  
Jade, who is handling the thermal camera, gives a subtle gasp and points to a gurney sitting beside the wall. There are two figures that appear a pinkish-orange on her screen, but nothing visible is there. John requests that they raise their hands, and one of the figures on the screen waves. On a digital recorder, Jane begins to talk with them.  
  
Hello! What are your names?  
  
Are you the ones riding the gurneys?  
  
When she listens to the device, it plays their voices. Their names are Latula and Mituna, and yes, they are the ones who play with the gurneys.  
  
You all stick around and ask them questions, finding that Latula was in here for severe anxiety, and Mituna was her doctor until things happened and he couldn't be a doctor anymore. When asked what these things were, he disappears from the screen, and Latula disappears seconds after. John tries to call them back, but they don't return. With the sun on the rise, everyone decides to call it a night, and you return to the other side of the hospital. You could really use some sleep.


	41. Royal Affairs Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I've gotten the problems with my computer straightened out, hopefully, and I've added the pictures to the last two chapters if you haven't already seen them!  
> still don't know what to call this sh rugs

The morning after the party, you are stopped by beefy palace guards and escorted to a room filled with clueless servants. You find your brother there, but he has no idea what's going on either. Looking around, you notice that everyone here appears to be male, but other than that, there are few similarities. Asking around gets you nowhere, and it seems as if everyone is in the dark about why you've been gathered together.  
  
You haven't eaten anything since the chocolate Roxy stole for you last night, so you are a pitiful combination of tired, hungry, and confused. You are pretty sure everyone is feeling the same way, if their facial expressions are anything to go by.  
  
It feels as if hours pass as you watch other servants be brought to this room, and being idle for so long makes you rather uneasy. You drum your fingers silently against your crossed arms as the buzz of worried conversation floats in the air like pesky dust. You have better things to do than sit around here all day, but you can't leave because the doors are being guarded, prohibiting anyone from exiting.  
  
After a ridiculous amount of time, time you could have spent doing something productive, a burly man stalks into the room whom you recognize as the head knight. Scars riddle his face, giving him a signature and easily recognizable mug. He calls for everyone's immediate and unwavering attention, but he doesn't really need to since you all are eager to know what's going on. He wastes no time, and that is something you are forever thankful for.  
  
Last night, an attempt on His Royal Highness, Prince Jacob's life was made. Thankfully, the Prince was unharmed, but the perpetrator was not apprehended and physical description is sparse since the attack took place in the dark of night. However, information they have is that the assassin is a male of moderate height with a gruff voice. It is speculated that he is of Dersite descent, due to his claim that the long dissolved empire would rise to greatness again. Everyone they've gathered are males of moderate height. Descent is something they've left open, since they are unsure of it, however those of Dersite ancestry are held to the highest suspicion. They don't know about anyone's voice either, which is good because servants aren't supposed to talk much. Each of you will be taken one by one to the Prince, who will determine if you are the assassin or not. You will state your name for him and nothing else.  
  
You nearly groan in exasperation. Sure, you are concerned that someone would attempt to murder the Prince, but honestly, why would a servant be a suspect? What would you gain from killing a member of the royal family? More importantly, how could you have possibly done so? You were asleep when this happened. Pretty much all the servants were asleep when this happened. And on top of that, being escorted one by one to be observed by Prince Jacob sounds like it could very well take all damn day. There are so many people in here. Like, a good fourth of the servants altogether. Are you supposed to just leave a whole fourth of the castle unattended to? The floors need to be scrubbed again, since they were trampled on by so many feet last night, tracked with dirt and footprints. The libraries are due for dusting, who could possibly study when the books and the shelves are caked with weeks of soft gray that sends you into a sneezing fit? The kitchen is probably in dire need of assistance, with so many helpers pulled from their duties.  
  
The guards arrange everyone into two groups: those of Dersite descent on the left, and those of other descent on the right. You and your brother reluctantly join the left group among those with the blood of Derse. At least they're starting with this side first.  
  
You watch as men are guided out of the room in a slow and exhaustingly boring fashion. The servants on the right are apparently using this time to their advantage, catching up on the sleep they sorely need. There's no way you could possibly fall asleep here, though. You'll have to get up too soon to rest any decent amount of time. With a sigh, you resign yourself to waiting to be taken to the Prince just like everyone else.  
  
The time is likely prolonged by how utterly bored you are, and a sense of relief washes over you as you watch your brother be escorted out knowing that you'll be next. Five or so minutes later, guards come to fetch you, guiding you down the hall to the throne room. On the far side sits Prince Jacob, his legs crossed as he supports his chin with the palm of his hand, elbow resting on the arm of the throne. The guards keep a firm hold on you, probably tighter than necessary as you walk down the center rug, keeping your sight averted. A few feet away from his throne, you drop into a kneel. Before you can give your name so he can sample your voice, he stops you. Says that he knows you weren't the one, you are free to leave, Dirk.  
  
Surprise blooms in your chest and you blink at the sound of your name. You can't believe he remembered it. You don't have the slightest clue why he would even want to remember it, since you aren't really that important at all. Still, a pleasant happiness spreads through you, and you rise from your position, giving a final bow before you are taken from the room.  
  
The guards bark at you to return to work, and you don't need to be told twice. You quickly make your way through the halls, glad that you are finally out of there. It has to be at least midday by now, and you don't get up at five to sit around doing nothing. Your winding path leads you to the kitchen, where the few servants available are preparing lunch. Among them, you find Roxy, who is scrubbing dishes clean for food to be served upon them. You join her, drying the plates with a cloth as she asks where you've been. You inform her of the assassination attempt on the Prince, to which she frowns, and that you - among many others - fit the partial physical description. That's why a good chunk of the servants are missing, you were all taken out for the Prince to see if any of you were the perp.  
  
She hums in reply as she hands a dripping gold-plated glass to you. You take it and wipe it of water, setting it aside. Roxy inquires as to if you've eaten anything yet, and you respond with a no, you weren't able to. She tsks and says that you have to eat when you're done helping her, and you would if servants could eat at lunchtime. You are given food in the mornings and in the evenings, and right now is neither of those times. She gives you a pointed look, an eyebrow raised as if she can hardly believe you said that. Right, this is Roxy you're speaking with. You assure her that you will look into the matter, but she can tell you're lying through your teeth and says that she will see to it personally.  
  
When the dishes have all been scrubbed clean, you follow her to where a hefty tray of fresh bread sits, bread baked exclusively for the nobles and the royal family. She makes it look as if she's aiming to walk right past it, but since your eyes are trained after her, you can see the subtle flash when she puts her mastery of sleight of hand to use. A loaf is surreptitiously slipped up her loose sleeve as she exits the kitchen, you trailing close behind. No one sees her, thankfully, otherwise she would be reported and punished. Of course, she's too skilled to allow anyone to notice, and she has this kind of air about her that lessens her presence somehow. She walks confidently through the halls that look like they've already been cleared of dirt and back to the servants quarters. It's empty, as it should be, and the long line of cots border the walls, their covers probably in need of washing.  
  
Roxy hands the bread to you and orders you to eat up, it's not healthy to skip meals. You thank her and tear the loaf in half, watching as a bit of steam rises from within. Without skipping a beat, you hand one back to her, and she furrows her brows. She stole it for you, not for herself, but you say that it isn't often servants get fresh bread, and she should have a fair share. It takes a bit of convincing on your part, but she finally relents and agrees to have half. The bread is warm and vaguely sweet, with a crisp, flakey crust and a light coating of butter. It nearly melts on your tongue, and you and Roxy both agree that it's the best you've ever had. Hardly a crumb is left when you finish, which is great because otherwise you would have had to sweep away the evidence. Once you've made sure nothing can point to the fact that a loaf was taken from the pile, you and she resume your work for the day.  
  
Out on the fields, you help the stable man, Equius, tend to the horses. You wonder if all the servants have been looked over yet as you stare up at the sky, the sun beginning to dip. Clouds float serenely against the blue that fades to a muted orange, and you lead two horses back to their stalls since they've been running about all day. They snort and trot alongside you, their manes shining in the fading light. Once you've secured them and brushed them down, making sure they have plenty of food and water, you prepare to leave. Before you can head back to the palace, however, the sound of clopping turns your head. You were certain you had taken care of all of them with Equius, but then you see a knight riding leisurely toward you. You would recognize the teal of those clothes anywhere, and you step back to allow Lady Latula the way.

She gives you a wave which you respond to with a bow, and she brings her midnight black stallion into the stables. You reenter to take care of her horse for her, and when she dismounts she turns to you with a grin. Long time no see, she greets, and you nod, welcoming her back from her trip visiting her family.  
  
At least a decade ago, when Latula was a page in training, she would ask you to be her sparring partner. She was too nervous to ask the other kids, and having a servant her age practice with her was much less nerve-wracking. Of course, she soon found that you hadn't a clue how to fight as you hadn't trained for that sort of thing a day in your life, so your sessions became more of her trying to teach you until you became good enough. At first, you had thought that learning to fight would be something fun, but she quickly proved you terribly wrong. Her methods of teaching were borderline brutal, and every time, you came out of it with aching muscles and bright new bruises. She wasn't one to quit, though it took a while for her to mold any sort of skill out of you, and at times she grew frustrated, but she had faith that you would pull through.  
  
And you did eventually, when the wooden sword in your hand started to feel natural and the steps began to come to you with the speed and precision of an arrow. That's when sparring started becoming enjoyable, when you could hold your own against her and clash against one another until you were both panting and out of breath. The other pages gave her weird looks for associating herself with a servant, but she pretended not to notice as you each quaked beneath the force of the other's sword, locked together. No one took her seriously until the weapon's master paired her up with a haughty boy sporting a sneering face. He was the jock of the class, pretentious and in sore need of being taken down a peg. She knocked him into the dirt before a single bead of sweat could form on her brow, and suddenly everyone jumped at the chance to fight with her, the girl who trained double-time in order to make a fighter out of you. You assumed you were no longer needed, and carried on with your regular duties, but a couple days later she came searching for you again, wanting to spar. When you asked her why she continued to seek you out, she smiled and said it was because you and she were friends.  
  
Now that she's been through her years as a page and squire, she's become a knight of high respect, but she still asks you to spar every so often. Tonight, however, she's tired from her trip, but she assures you that she'll come to find you eventually. You tell her that you look forward to it, and she claps you on the shoulder before retiring back to the palace. After you care for her stallion, the sun is well into setting and the evening chimes sound with a golden timbre. You return as well, wiping your hands on the front of your trousers. When you take a bath to remove the smell of horses from your body, you find that your knees are still unhappily bruised from yesterday, but they've begun to fade already so they should be gone soon. Once you've bathed, you find your brother in the servant's dining hall, where stale bread and cheese are being distributed for dinner. Taking up a spot beside him, you both discuss what you think of the details regarding the assassination attempt on the Prince. Neither of you have any idea who could possibly want to kill him, but mostly you're both still irked at the five hours they kept you in that room.  
  
After you eat and assist in sweeping the hall, you return to the servant’s quarters for a night’s rest.

* * *

A few days pass, and still the one who tried to take the Prince’s life evades the efforts of being caught. No new attempts have been made on Prince Jacob, however that might be because the palace is abuzz with the newest gossip of the happening. The perp would have to be someone with easy access to the corridors, since he entered the Prince’s room through the door. That was a ballsy move in your opinion, like, he just kind of walked in? Say cheese to this knife? In the newest set of details you have picked up, apparently the Prince’s personal servant was killed by mistake since it was so dark, and that’s what bought enough time for him to call for help as he tackled the intruder to the ground. They scuffled for a bit before the doors slammed open, guards rushing in with weapons drawn. The assassin was forced to flee out the window without completing his mission, assuring everyone that Derse would rise again.  
  
This strikes you as strange, since Derse has been dissolved for almost a century now. Why would it be doing any kind of rising? It’s an empire that fell apart from its vastness. Sure, it was grand and impressive, and the aesthetic of Derse architecture is nice, but it’s pretty dead now. You’re adequately sure it’s a good six feet under. You can hardly imagine it actually becoming a thing again. Probably because your head really hurts right now. You have a killer migraine.  
  
The entirety of your skull throbs like it’s just been trampled by aggressive hogs as you dust the library, your arms numb and tingly. Roxy noticed that you were off the second it started happening, and she’s keeping careful watch of you. She knows how bad you get them and urges you to take it easy until it passes. You tell her that she is such a mom and she pats you on the shoulder before telling you to just dust a bit, you can’t slack off because Slick is supervising the cleaning of the library right now. He’s responsible for making sure all the servants stay in line, even if it means using brute force. It usually means using brute force. You are pretty sure he likes using brute force.  
  
Not a sound is to be made as the servants clean, since the library is currently in use by the head knight, who is reading at a table surrounded by the high shelves of tomes. You don’t care what he’s reading, you don’t really care much about anything at the moment. You just want your migraine to go away. It’s throwing off your equilibrium and you feel like the world is swaying beneath your feet. You find it rather difficult to see as your vision swims with nausea-inducing spots of light. Removing books from the shelves robotically, you sweep a damp rag over the light coating of dust on the wood, getting rid of it. A whirling sense of vertigo has you bracing yourself against the shelf, exhaling steadily as you find your balance again, head pounding. There is nothing in your stomach for you to throw up and you are grateful that you wisely chose to skip breakfast this morning since you could feel it coming. You just handed off your bread and cheese to Roxy, who split it with Dave and Rose.  
  
You still feel sick, though, and you breathe in and out deeply. It sends shocks of pain through your skull, and you reach up to squeeze the bridge of your nose in an effort to ease the aching throb. When it hardly recedes, you rub at your temples and try to ignore it, replacing the books on the shelf and moving to the next section. You stack the books carefully in order on your arm, placing them on the floor as you wipe the dust from the shelf again. Roxy comes over to check on you, quietly asking if you’re alright. You nod, but it makes pain explode from the crown of your head, so you just mutter back that you’re doing okay. She gives a worried look at your pallid complexion and returns back to where she’s wiping shelves clean. You bend down to pick up the books again, but you rise up too fast and your balance runs away from you with glee, and suddenly you’re aware you’re falling. Books tumble from your arms and join you on the floor, the loud thump and clatter echoing through the wide library. Your chest fills with ice as you realize the mistake you’ve made, and sure enough when you look up Slick is walking straight for you.  
  
You push yourself up on your knees, trying to stand, but he gets to you first and yanks you to your feet. Sudden movement like that has you lurching as pain rushes behind your eyes, and then he’s all but dragging you out of the room. Roxy quickly runs up and tries to smooth over your fuck-up, but Slick only growls that unless she wants to be punished too, she should hold her tongue and get back to work. Her mouth closes as she bites her lips, eyebrows corrugated. Slick takes you out of the library, reprimanding you all the while. Causing disturbances like that, you’ve got gall. His words are muddled in your ears, and you struggle to understand them. He leads you to a room which he promptly shoves you inside, and again the sensation of sudden movement has pain shooting through your head.  
  
Two men look up from where they’re playing cards, one large, one thin. They stand and move to take hold of you as Slick says that as punishment, you’ll receive five lashes. Take off your shirt.  
  
Still, you can’t really understand him, and it takes a few seconds for you to process his order. He takes this as further disobedience and tacks on another five lashes for insubordination. Your shirt is ripped from your body and you are thrown against the whipping block, bent over it on your knees as your wrists are locked in place by iron shackles. A few moments pass as you listen to them murmur to each other, nothing terribly clear that you can make out, but then a whip cracks overhead and you clench your teeth, tensing at the taunt. A few seconds later, it pops again, this time catching the skin on your back unforgivingly. A shout squeezes through your teeth and the whip is brought down again, tearing at your flesh in a stinging strike. Over and over, burning and crisscrossing in angry lacerations, the whip snaps against your back, rending it to ribbons. With every ear-splitting crack, your migraine worsens and gashes appear across your spine. By the time you’ve received ten lashes, which felt a lot more like fourteen to you, blood is oozing from your wounds and you are near passing out. They finally unlock your restraints, shoving your shirt back at you and tossing you from the room, a crumbled mass of limbs. Your sight makes it seem like the world is spinning, unfocused and unsteady. In your state distracted by all the different pains you feel, Roxy is hurrying towards you. She had trailed after Slick after he took you from the library.  
  
Oh, she murmurs gently as she kneels beside your form, placing her hands on your shoulders and assisting you in sitting up. She takes your shirt and presses it against the splits of your skin. A hiss of pain seethes from your lips, and another soothing oh slips from her mouth. She helps you stand, keeping your shirt pressed against your injuries as you blearily look to her. You both know that the infirmary doesn’t treat servants with whip wounds, so she says she’ll take you up to the bell tower. No one other than Dave goes up to the bell tower, since it’s his job to keep it tidy and ring the chimes, so you’ll be able to rest there without fear of being found. Blood begins to peak through the cloth of your gray shirt as she walks you down the halls, keeping you steady. You can feel her palm on the center of your chest, and the other keeping your gashes covered as she guides you through the palace, your mind slipping in and out of muddy focus. Dark spots tease at the edges of your sight as you feel yourself grow heavier with each step. The last thing you remember before your vision fades to black is someone who is not Roxy calling your name.

* * *

Sound is fuzzy when consciousness peaks through your mind, and you feel the side of your face pressed against something soft. The dull ache of your migraine has lessened into a subtle throb, but your back sears in blazing stings. The blurry sound of quiet voices gradually becomes clearer, and soon you open your eyes to crisp white sheets. Your mind is working at a much less murky pace now, and you observe that you are in the infirmary. Why are you in the infirmary? You shouldn't be. How did you get here? You are sure the doctors would turn you away in an instant, it's what you get for being a nuisance. So why?  
  
Someone notices you, says that you've woken up to someone else. A presence takes a seat beside your bed, and you look up from your position lying on your stomach expecting to find Roxy, but it is not Roxy at all. Prince Jacob sits before you with worry clouding his eyes and immediately, you avert your gaze and move to get up. How incredibly rude it is to lay so indolently before a member of the royal family! However, he is quick to tell you to keep still and lay back down. You'll exacerbate your wounds, he warns. You must protest, because it would be such an offense to continue to lazily lie here in his presence, but he firmly orders you to rest. Hesitantly, you settle back among the sheets as you were before.  
  
He tells you that he stumbled upon you and Roxy in the halls, just before you collapsed. Of course he wasn't about to just walk past the situation, and he assisted her in transporting you to the infirmary. He had to demand the doctors treat you, since they turned you away at first, but they came around. As your wounds were cared for, Roxy explained to him what had happened.  
  
A terrible injustice, says the Prince with a frown. I will make it my personal business to ensure nothing like this ever happens again.  
  
You say that he shouldn't burden himself with such trivial matters, he has much more pressing things to worry about. Prince Jacob shakes his head, you are as much a citizen of his country as anyone, and it's his responsibility to make sure that you are treated fairly under the law just like everyone else.  
  
You quiet at this, and he asks you how you're feeling. To tell him honestly. Chewing at your lip, you confess that it hurts, but you are fine. It doesn't look like he believes you, and he says that you are to stay in bed for the rest of the day. You nod and say that you will. It doesn't look like Roxy is here anymore, she must have been told to stop dawdling over you and keep working.  
  
He asks if you are aware of the fact that he recently lost his personal servant, and you confirm that you have heard. The other day, he continues, he had joined Lady Latula at dinner since he hadn't spoken to her in a while, and the topic was brought up between them. She suggested he make you his new servant, since she had a wide number of good words to put in about you. Remarkable tenacity and refreshing competence. He inquires as to if you are interested in the position. You reply that it would be an honor to fulfill the task, and he smiles. Says that that would be brilliant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhh writing about migraines almost gave me one ain't that somethin
> 
> Head knight is Dualscar imma just put that out there


	42. Seven Days - Afterstory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tada!  
> Sorry that the picture looks kind of bad, I couldn't find any references to look at.

Your name is Dirk Strider and you are gripping tightly onto Jake's hands as he tugs you along about three feet off the ground. The wings you've been gifted are still so incredibly foreign to you, but it's only been perhaps two days since you received them. He's been teaching you how to use them, and it's tough suddenly having appendages you never thought possible pull your weight. Well, Jake is actually the one pulling your weight right now, you're still just getting the feel of flapping fresh wings. He makes sure to frequently tell you that you're doing a marvelous job with that smile you've come to find a lot more appealing than first perceived.  
  
Jake says that you've made quick progress, but you're still hardly capable of using them. He's basically been training wheels for you, offering advice wherever he thinks it's necessary. Don't look over your shoulder at them, you'll run smack into what's in your path of travel. Go for wide, even strokes, it makes flight much easier and smoother. Try to breathe deeply, too, it keeps your muscles from cramping. Remembering all of these things isn't too hard, it's just putting them into play that has you a little crooked. You've never done anything like this in your life. Or, previous life. Even then you were toted about as you clung to him, hardly wondering how he worked his wings. You could never imagine even having them before, and the sensation of a new set of feathered limbs is so very strange. They're a constant tug at your back, flexed with every push and pull.  
  
You suppose you've made a little progress, since you're no longer just letting Jake guide your wings in the correct motions as you stand ground-bound. The presence of his hands gently showing you how to move them clued you in as to just where wings were sensitive, and when his fingers brushed over the tops you were surprised to find that it kind of tickled.  
  
At the moment, you are still clutching Jake's hands, your back kind of sore and tired. You think that you're able to hold at least a little of your weight by now, but he's still the one supporting most of it. On top of that, he's flying backwards, for Christ's sake. The cool bursts of wind he stirs brush past your skin in fluid, practiced gusts, and you can't help but be a little envious of his skill. He's confessed that he had trouble learning to fly as well, and you guess it makes you feel a little better, but not much. He tells you to keep at it, it's only been a couple days since you earned them, of course you can't possibly be so dexterous the moment after. It makes sense, but you hold yourself to too high a standard to be anything but partially skilled at everything. It's a completely ridiculous mindset, you've been told, but it's just how you are. And yet you find yourself floundering about on lofty wings with only a vague idea of how to use them. You guess there aren't that many secret techniques to be learned, you just kind of have to figure out how they flow, like learning how to write with clumsy child-hands.  
  
Jake suggests you take a break for a bit, as too much strain is bad for your wings and you've been practicing for a couple hours, now. You nod, and he effortlessly brings you back to solid ground. A feeling of cool, immense relief spreads through your back and up past your shoulders as you allow your wings to rest, but it's replaced soon after by a clenching ache slanting down your spine. You wince a bit and move to try and massage it away, but your wings block your hand. They are a little more inconvenient than you thought. Jake notices, and asks if it hurts. You only shrug, since it does, but you aren't about to tell him.  
  
He sits down and pats at his lap, telling you to lay your head there. Says that your back is almost certainly quite sore from all that strenuous activity, and that if he's to reach it without stepping on your wings, then this would be the best position to do so. He can't heal overworked muscles since there isn't anything to really mend, but he knows how to make them feel better. You blink at this strangely bold suggestion, but you aren't about to turn it down. You lower yourself, removing your shades to place your head on his lap, lying on your stomach and letting your wings unfurl comfortably. It's a little odd, you think, how safe you feel with him, how you trust him this much.  
  
Out of the corner of your eye you see his arm languidly  reach out, and then you feel the tips of his fingers brush over the center of your upper back, between your wings. Lightly, he drags them down the curve of your spine, gracing over the small valley running through the middle. You shiver, the tensions melting away almost instantly into the pleasant sensation of him dragging his fingers over your back. His touch is light, enough to move dust but not paper, and the gentle lull back and forth has you letting your eyes slip shut, completely relaxed. He continues to graze your skin soothingly, up and down your back in a slow pattern that touches away the angry knots you had mere moments ago. A serene calmness blankets over you drowsily, easing the aches as you quiver beneath his touch again, sighing. It feels so nice, being near him, and you can only hope to stay like this longer, but after he's given your back ample attention, his hand stills, and you miss the gesture in seconds.  
  
He asks if it feels any better, and you nod. However, you don't make any move to get up, and he doesn't tell you to. You just lie there, your head in his lap and his palm resting against the blade of your shoulder. You are content to stay like that for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone dragging their fingers down your back is the best feeling ever I highly recommend it.


	43. Storm Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise

Your name is Dirk Strider, and you are diving deep beneath the surface of the ocean, the colors swaying with the currents in a tranquil dance. A quick look behind your shoulder tells you that Jake is following closely, so you turn and flick your tail, gliding seamlessly through the water. Fish wiggle around you, some darting rapidly behind coral only to cautiously peak out through jagged rock. Above you, sun beams shine down, distorted by glimmering cerulean waves. They wash over your body in fluid patterns and catch your hair in gleaming tresses as you brush past seaweed that curls in the flow. Your gills flutter with every breath, but you know that sooner or later Jake will need to resurface for air. He's built up an admirable lung capacity for someone lacking in the tail department, but he can't stay under forever like you can.  
  
A shadowed silhouette murkily forms the farther out you swim, poking up from the ocean floor in three tall spikes. It's not too deep, and still pretty close to the island, so Jake should have no trouble exploring. The closer you get, the more detail you can make out, and with every swish of your fins another groove of the forgotten wreck looms into view, a resonating echo from the past. A ship that once ruled the seas now lays broken among sand and fuzzy algae. You pick up your pace a smidgen, making sure Jake can follow at your speed. He slices widely through the water, eyes squinted at the salinity.  
  
He adopts your pace and you continue on, guiding him to the shipwreck you discovered the other day. When you told him of it, he simply had to see it for himself. Giddy with excitement, he trails after you as you grow closer to the ship. You know that he is dying to see it all, but his unfortunate scarcity of gills makes it hard to explore places like this. Unfortunate is his word for it, you still don't think anyone should be spliced with a fish for shits and giggles.  
  
The ship hulks as you approach, its name etched in a curving language you don't understand. You recognize it, though, as one of the scripts from the lands in the Far East, and you mentally acknowledge the skill they must have needed to navigate halfway around the earth. You wonder what brought it down? A hole neglected? A storm of fury? Sabotage? You guess you'll never know. It doesn't particularly matter, anyway, since whatever happened ultimately landed it smack at the bottom of the ocean.  
  
Jake takes a quick pause to swim back to the surface, addressing his need for air before plunging back down to follow you right up to the lopsided deck. The middle has been snapped jaggedly in half, wooden boards reaching out like splintered teeth that tiny fish weave through in flashes of movement. You take his hand and guide him nearer with the precision it takes not to get snagged and poked by wood. It opens up into rooms torn apart, leaving dark gaping holes open and inviting investigation. Jake tugs at your hand as he takes the lead, entering into the wreck. The first place you explore appears to be some kind of storage room, where barrels sit turned on their sides and gathered sloppily at the deepest point of the incline. He tugs at one of the tops, but it doesn't give, so you suppose it needs some kind of tool to be opened. You'll find one later, probably.  
  
Nothing else in the room is particularly interesting, so you and he move on to what you find next, the captain's quarters. A crooked bed sits by the wall, sheets now a home to timid sea life. Jake wastes no time, swimming over to a heavy desk pinned with what were once maps, but are now blurred and smudged into incomprehensible squiggles. He slides a drawer open, looking around inside. Within are several more maps and a water-worn leather notebook which yields no insight into the past when opened, as the ink has also run. He plucks a small bottle from the drawer, the cap preventing water from contaminating the ink inside. Turning it over in his hands, he stares at it, oddly fascinated, before setting it within the drawer again.  
  
As you continue your adventures, you stumble across the brig, which seems to still have been holding prisoners when the ship went down. Skeletons litter the cells here and there, and you look to Jake to see if it makes him uncomfortable, but he is staring straight into the jail with a curious and happily intrigued disposition. He's probably wondering what their lives were like, what they laughed at and what their favorite food was, what they did to land themselves a death sentence. Either that or he just really loves skulls. Or maybe both. It doesn't matter, you're just glad he's not freaked out or unsettled.  
  
In another room, an armory sits, nearly overflowing with weapons. You are drawn to the swords, remembering when you could handle one, but now that you don't have legs, footwork is a little complicated. Jake gravitates over to the firearms, now unworkable since they've been sitting at the bottom of the ocean for who knows how long. They're old in design, and he takes a good gander before picking one up to inspect the swirling engravings along the barrels. They loop around in a sinuous pattern quite pleasing to the eye, and he takes a few moments to admire its craftsmanship before returning it on the shelf.  
  
You further your explorations, taking occasional breaks when Jake needs air, and within you discover galleons and jewels and glass beads. They're dull with the lack of light, but they retain their ornamental beauty. Silks and precious fabrics float splayed and ruined at the top of the room, making it seem as if the ceiling is nothing but drapes of muted color. You find little value in all the treasures you find, jewelry and gems strewn around. Wealth reminds you of the woman who turned you into what you are. It's taken the worth of gold and made it hollow and meretricious. The only necklace that will ever have value to you is the one Jake gave you, and in your mind it's worth more than anything on this entire ship.  
  
You find dozens of old boots and clothes and enough rope to last a lifetime, some still tied in those tricky sailor knots. An anchor and a broken compass, a hat with a limp plume. You and he have fun messing with the wheel, turning at as far as it will go without breaking. Somewhere along the lines, you find a sturdy crowbar that you could use to pry open the barrels you first encountered, and Jake agrees that he'd also like to see what was inside.  
  
You swim to the room, handing the tool off to Jake as he approaches the containers. With eager determination, he pushes the wedge between the lid, wiggling it back and forth to squeeze it further down. You watch over his shoulder as he starts to pry off the top, blinking in anticipation. In a quick motion, it pops off, and a black cloud swirls upwards in dangerous puffs. Immediately, you slip a hand over his eyes and pull him backwards, away from the floating tendrils of gunpowder. You've known people to go blind from getting it thrown at their faces, and you would hate to see that happen to Jake.  
  
As soon as you've taken him safely away, you swim around to inspect his eyes closely, hands cupping his cheeks.

That familiar verdant stares back, unmarred, and you breathe out a sigh of relief. He smiles at you as his palms come to rest on your cheeks as well, and for a moment your heart skips at his touch. You scan over his face, only now realizing your proximity. He doesn't seem upset in the slightest, and you are glad you didn't make him uncomfortable. In a bout of courage, you tuck a lock of dark hair behind his ear, keeping it from obscuring his eyes. It's soft with the weightlessness of the ocean, and you draw a little closer than before.  
  
You feel his thumb brush gently across the apple of your cheek, your skin tingling in its wake. He moves nearer as well, tender touches ghosting over you and you notice that your pulse is quickening with every second he stares at you and every second you stare back. You could swear up and down that the currents still when he leans in and it probably wouldn't make it true, but it's what you feel when you lean in as well and close the gap between your lips. It's salty and the barest of touches, feather-light and innocent of lust, yet it takes your breath away all the same. His fingertips inch into your hair, threading through the strands affectionately as your hands come to link together behind his neck. It's over quickly, almost fleetingly, and when he pulls back he stays close, fingers still tangled in your hair. You would really love to simply exist in this moment for a while longer, but when he took your breath away, you think he also kind of did it literally? You can't breathe.  
  
With a tug you quickly swim upwards, breaking the surface as you cough saltwater from your lungs, the sensation burning your throat and nose unpleasantly. Jake appears seconds after, confused and worried as to why you are suddenly having trouble breathing underwater, but then his eyes widen and he whispers your name.  
  
Your fins, he says. They're gone. Your brows furrow as you reach up a hand, placing it against the fin on the side of your head, but finding it not there. Instead, it's been replaced by a very familiar appendage, and you find your eyes widening as you feel the curve of your ear. Your hand traces down to your neck, but your gills are gone too, leaving no trace on your slanting neck. And then you recognize the feeling of treading water with two legs, legs you haven't had in so very long. You look down and they're there, keeping you afloat with knees and ankles and feet and you actually have legs again! The dorsal on your back has disappeared and you are completely overwhelmed because you suddenly no longer have the tail you had grown so used to? And you don't know how to react! Also you're kind of naked.  
  
But you trace over your neck free of ridges and fluttering gills and look to him, your mouth slightly agape, and you let the revelation slide off your tongue so soft it's almost lost in the waves.  
  
You're human again. After all this time seeing bright orange scales and flowing fins, you've finally shed the skin imprisoning you to the sea. Shed what reminds you of the Condesce, what symbolized her everlasting hold on you, and you look to Jake who is just as awestruck as you are. You ask him if it's real, if it's true, and he's nodding to you as a grin breaks out on your face. Then he's beaming too, just as ecstatic as you are that your curse has been lifted and your old form has taken its rightful place. His hands take yours and he's moving in close again, and you are all too happy to let him hold you without worry of jostling your fins or blocking your gills. You kiss him, harder than before, and you can feel his smile against your lips and you can't help but kiss him again, and again until you're both laughing too hard to kiss anymore. The ocean cradles you both with swaying arms as smiles brighten your faces.  
  
Above, the sun warms your skin, and you have never been happier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For LittleUggie! True love's kiss breaks Dirk's curse uwu  
> I had lots of fun drawing this picture!


	44. The Past (Chase)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another installment of the demonstuck AU! Sorry if it's not the best, I'm still having a lot of writer's block on this one.  
> Warning for gruesome horror

UU: dirk, might i have a moment?  
UU: i apologize for pestering yoU, bUt something has recently been broUght to my attention.  
UU: it seems as thoUgh one of the people most in danger of harm by my brother has little to no information aboUt the sUbject.  
UU: why haven’t yoU discUssed this matter with him?  
UU: aren’t yoU fearful that my brother may hUrt him?  
TT: Are you talking about Jake?  
TT: Why would Caliborn hurt him? That wouldn’t further his endeavors whatsoever.  
UU: to get to yoU, of coUrse!  
UU: caliborn is willing to go to any means to obtain yoUr brothers blood.  
UU: who's to say he won't go after jake?  
UU: and if he decides to, jake won't stand a fleeting chance!  
UU: caliborn is not dUmb, and he will Use yoUr emotions to manipUlate yoU.  
UU: if he thinks there's any chance yoU'll give him dave, then he will definitely hUrt him!  
TT: Hold on, how do you know what Jake knows?   
TT: I thought you hadn’t met him.   
UU: i happened Upon him on my way to kanaya’s earlier.   
UU: when i asked him what he knew aboUt basilisks, he coUldn’t give any information! well, he coUld, bUt not mUch.  
UU: why haven’t yoU told him aboUt Us?   
TT: I assumed he knew, since he’s a hunter.   
UU: that is reasonable, i sUppose, however the matter still stands that he doesn’t know how to handle one.  
TT: Yeah, I’ll definitely fix that.   
TT: Thanks for telling me, Callie.   
UU: yoU’re qUite welcome, dirk!  


* * *

Your name is Jake English and you are on the prowl once again! A leyak has been desecrating graveyards and accosting pregnant women, and you need to stop it! Your cousins and sister are too busy to provide you with backup, though. Normally you would just storm in and hope you don’t die in action, but recently another source of assistance has been offered. Thus, you have enlisted the help of Dirk, who seems pleased that you heeded his advice.  
  
You sit with him silently in the shadows of the brush in the cemetery, peering out across the headstones and statues as you wait for the leyak to make an appearance. Nothing unordinary has stirred your senses yet, but you keep sharp attention. Not a leaf falls without your knowledge of it.  
  
A bottle of water that you’ve soaked dried white rose petals in sits within the pocket of your black jacket, waiting to be used. Decapitation isn’t going to work, since a leyak is literally just a floating head with some entrails hanging from the neck. It’s kind of gross, in your opinion.  
  
Overhead, a sliver of the waning moon dishes a modicum of low light across the grassy field of graves, the wind soft and chilly. From afar, you can see the sinuous movements of a snake slither over the ground, slowly disturbing the grass. Your breathing is silent and your heartbeat is calmly unobtrusive, the way you’ve trained it to be. Or maybe you’ve just become blasé to the threat of demons. Most likely both. You’re not sure if the latter is a good thing, but eh.  
  
Beside you, Dirk murmurs your name, asking for your attention. You tilt your head towards him a bit, keeping the graveyard in view but still letting him know that you are listening. He appears to be ruminating about something before he licks his lips and starts talking quietly.  
  
He’s heard you don’t know much about basilisks. You furrow your brows and think back to the young lady you ran into yesterday. She asked you about basilisks as well, and you find it strange that this particular being has been cropping up so often.  
  
Dirk tells you that he’s friends with the woman who spoke to you, and that she told him. You ask why it’s important, since they’re exceedingly rare and running into one is highly unlikely.  
  
Not impossible, though, he says. That woman, in fact, was a basilisk.  
  
Oh, you mumble. This is indeed a revelation. You are glad she was friendly. For what other reasons are they important, you inquire.  
  
Caliborn, the person coming after him, is also a basilisk, and he might try to hurt you as well. You frown at this. Dirk says that he’ll tell you what you need to know after you both take down the leyak, and you nod in agreement.  
  
It’s hardly fifteen minutes later that you hear the soft shush of something trailing over blades of grass, and you narrows your eyes as you see a head with tusks and fangs sweep into view. Organs trail behind it, dusting the ground as it searches for the freshest body to eat. You slip the bottle of rosewater out of your pocket and keep it in your hand readily, your thumb on the edge of the cork. With the stealth of shadows, you creep out along the underbrush, careful of snapping twigs or rustling leaves. The leyak hasn’t yet noticed you, and you cautiously step around the bush and behind a tree.  

Dirk stays put, observing the demon as it looks for areas of freshly upturned earth. Slimy entrails drag along the ground, gathering dirt as it scans the graves.  
  
It only takes it a few moments to locate the newest burial site, and immediately the leyak begins to dig with yellowed tusks. You find this to be an opportune time to carry out a sneak attack, since it’s distracted by trying to find a meal, and you advance ever so warily. It isn’t facing you, so you deem it safe to approach without the cover of a looming tree. As your footsteps meet the ground soundlessly, you work the cork off the bottle and prepare to toss it onto the demon, but a threatening hiss breaks your focus.  
  
A mere foot away from your shoes, another snake sits, giving you a warning glare. You step away quickly, but upon looking up again, the leyak’s eyes are trained right on your form. Drats, it heard that ornery snake. A guttural growl ripples through the air, and you take an offensive stance, preparing to attack. Dirk appears at your side, ready to fight with an aura that drips with danger.  
  
The demon looks from you to Dirk, judging its chances. You don’t give it time to think on the matter. With a burst of speed, you lunge forward, surprising it into backing away. You keep your pace and raise the hand holding the bottle, but it darts out of your path before you can even let the rosewater loose.  
  
Agitated, the leyak speeds towards you, tusks aimed to impale. You rapidly dodge just before it collides with you, but not fast enough to skim free past the hanging organs. Intestines wrap around your ankle in a disgustingly wet chain, and with your center of balance stolen you fall onto your back.  
  
The leyak wastes no time in trying to run you through once more, and you raise an arm to try and stop it. Dirk steps in, grabbing the demon by its tusks before it can hurt you. He tells you to use the rosewater now, he’s got it held in place. The leyak struggles fruitlessly in his grasp as you fumble for the bottle. A bit has spilled, but enough is left to do the job.  
  
With a practiced arm, you throw the water onto the demon. It shrieks as the rosewater scalds its skin, organs shriveling to a crisp and unraveling from your ankle. Jerking out of Dirk’s hold, it makes a move to escape, but with the water sealing away its powers, it can’t get very far. Its flight is slow and faltering, making it easy to catch one you’ve gotten to your feet again.  
  
You thrust an arm out and grab it by the hair, feeling the unwashed and greasy tresses beneath your fingers. It writhes in your grip, growling intensely, and you call for Dirk to grab the stake from your pocket, your voice thick with effort as you keep the leyak from struggling. In an instant, he’s beside you, grabbing the wooden stake dipped in silver. You turn to have it facing him, and he plunges the weapon between its bulging eyes. A blood curdling animalistic scream rings out before it ceases movement, hanging limply from your hands. Dirk pries the stake from its skull, the silver dripping with an oozing black blood.  
  
You look to Dirk and remark that the two of you make quite the good team, and he nods with the barest hint of a smirk on his lips. You walk with him back to where you were previously hiding as you carry the head, grabbing the shovel you had brought earlier.  
  
In a secluded corner of the cemetery, you begin to dig a small hole. It’s a one-man job, so Dirk stands off to the side with his arms folded. As you lift dirt away, he starts talking.  
  
So basilisks, he begins as he watches you work, and you tell him that you are all ears.  
  
In their true forms, they’re giant-ass snakes that spit wildly corrosive venom. Their poison can make rocks crumble, so you can imagine what it could do to flesh. They’re incredibly quick and agile, and if they bite you, it’s pretty much game over. According to legends, they’re weakness is the weasel, but nobody has a huge fucking weasel just lying around so that’s not going to work. Pretty sure that brand of weasels doesn’t even exist anyway.  
  
Their human forms, by contrast, are much weaker, though it’s easier to get around in them, much like any human form of a demon. Your best bet on killing one would be when they’re in that state.  
  
You ask if there are any weapons able to kill one, and he says that he’s working on making one right now, actually. It’s taken him the entire duration he’s had Dave, and it’s still in the process of being completed. It’s incredibly tedious shit, he complains. He had to scrape together enough pure titanium to make a sword, and have that sword forged in the heat of an angel’s wrath, which sucked ass. Then he had to cool it in the land of ice, which is apparently a vague description for the icebergs of the South Pole. That didn’t suck as bad as pissing off an angel enough for it to rain fury down on him, but it still sucked since he hates the cold. Then he had to do all this other bullshit, like crush berries from juniper and spread it over the blade on the night of a full moon, and drip blood drawn from his forearm over the hilt. Things that were so ridiculously specific, and carried out in an exact order. He’s still not done with it. It’s been over four months!  
  
However, it is well on its way to being finished, and the woman who spoke to you first about basilisks, her name is Calliope, is taking it to the World Tree for it to be blessed. That’s the final step, and hopefully it can be completed before Caliborn finds him.  
  
You listen to him as he continues to tell you all he knows about basilisks, which is a hefty bunch. He must have done some serious research, since he’s reminding you of a Wikipedia article, just told in his lovely and mildly humorous prose. He gets through all of it by the time you’re finished burying the head of the leyak, and you are glad that it’s only the head you had to get rid of, since entire bodies take so much more effort. Dirk says that that’s a little macabre, and you guess you can agree, but you’re just so used to it after all these years.  
  
He asks how long you’ve been in this profession, and you have to think back a bit as you walk with him to your car. Eleven years, you believe. Almost half your life. He whistles and says that that has got to take some grade-A commitment, and you shrug. It’s just how things turned out, with what happened and all.  
  
What happened? He asks, and you realize you’ve yet to tell him the events that made you become a hunter. You purse your lips and chew at the flesh of your lip as you unlock your car doors. As you toss the shovel onto the tarp in the back, you promise to tell him back at your apartment, after you’ve gotten cleaned up.  
  
He slips into the passenger seat as you take the wheel, and on the way there he suggests that Roxy come to your apartment one day and put those invisibility seals up to make you nearly impossible to detect. It’s a bit of extra protection in case Caliborn somehow finds out about you. You agree that this would be a smart move, and you make a mental note to remember it.  
  
The walk up to your place seems to take even less time than before, and you are almost surprised when you find yourself in front of the door. Once you’ve unlocked it and stepped inside, you kick off your shoes and say that you’re going to take a shower. You’ve got organ juice on you, and that is eight kinds of nasty. When you enter the bathroom, you exhale a little before you strip down and turn on the water. It runs hot over your skin, and helps clear your head a little. You’ve never told anyone how you came to be a hunter, and even though it happened over a decade ago you can still remember it clear as day.  
  
You wash the dirt and grime from your body, and then do it again for good measure. It doesn’t take too long, and when you finish up and get out, Dirk follows suit and takes a shower of his own. You provide him with a change of clothes and a towel, and as you wait for him to finish his ablution, you sit on the couch with your knees drawn up to your chest. It gives you time to get your story in order, so you can tell it without hiccups or backtracking.  
  
You find his presence beside you, drawing you out of your train of thought, seeing that he’s done with his shower and is clad in your clothes, his hair still a little damp. He takes a seat next to you, saying that you don’t have to tell him if you don’t want to, but you shake your head. You think he should know anyway.  
  
Drumming your fingers on your knees, you contemplate where to start. He doesn’t speak, just waits for you to be ready, and in your appreciation you curl up snugly and safely against his side. His arm shifts to wrap around your waist, and you can feel his thumb tracing over your skin in a soothing gesture that makes it a little easier to start talking.  
  
When you were younger, your family would always go on outings to visit your grandparents during the holidays. This particular time, when you were twelve, was when things went wrong.  
  
Everyone had arrived, you and your sister with your parents, your cousins with their parents. Your grandparents doted on you all, and everyone was having a nice time until your moms and dads began acting strangely. You had brushed it off, since you were twelve and you figured they’d get over it in a little. You didn’t think twice when they carefully switched out your grandparents’ silverware for plastic cutlery, and you didn’t question it when they purposefully avoided the holy crosses hung on the walls. It was only when you gathered around the table for dinner that the penny dropped.  
  
You, your sister, and your cousins were waiting politely for your grandparents to join, since they weren’t at the table yet. Your parents, however, dug right in, which was undeniably weird since they made it a point to teach you good manners. You had said that you had to wait for your grandparents, but they only chuckled as if you had said something silly. Jade agreed that you should all wait for everyone to be there before you started to eat, and they said that everyone was already here. Grandma and grandpa are right in front of you.  
  
At that moment, you hadn’t understood, since they were obviously nowhere in sight, but then your mother pokes something onto her fork and holds it up for everyone to see. Look, I got an eye! Everyone thought it was a joke in poor taste, but what sat stabbed on the end of her plastic fork was unquestionably an eye. The optic nerve hung limply from the back. John looked down at his plate and nearly threw up, because beneath the food, an eye was peeking out as well. The green iris of your grandpa.  
  
They always taste so much better when they’ve aged for a while, said your cousins’ father, and everyone murmured their agreement. Meanwhile, you sat there with your sister and cousins, frozen in your chair. You didn’t know what was going on, and you were a little terrified. Surely it must have been a joke! A horrible prank! But your grandparents never joined you at the table, and the longer you sat there, the less you could believe it. They couldn’t have actually cooked them, they couldn’t actually be eating them. That’s just completely unheard of.  
  
Jane picked a wedding band from her plate. Her mother said that that was good luck. Jade started to cry as she pressed a hand to her mouth, eyes wide as tears slid silently down her cheeks. Your parents asked her what was wrong. Eat up, it’s delicious. You couldn’t pretend it wasn’t real anymore.  
  
When none of you would touch your food, just looked at it in horror, they started to get irritated. It was a struggle getting those skinned and cooked up, it’s only good manners to eat it. You refused with a numb shake of your head, and things only got worse from there.  
  
They started to shout at you all, and somewhere in between their reprimand their sclera flashed to red. That’s when you knew that these weren’t your parents, not anymore. When none of you would eat, they said that they would just cook you up, too. And so they got up from their seats and walked around the table, aiming to grab you and the others. You each shot up from your chairs and backed away in fear. Jade had kept hold of her fork, one made of metal, and ultimately that’s what saved everyone’s life.  
  
When they advanced, she swiped it at them, telling them shakily to stay back. It caught one of them, and left an angry welt across their skin. It clued everyone in on the fact that the metal was damaging, and you each raced to grab your own.  
  
You had to kill your own parents, or the evil husks they had become. It was probably the worst moment of your entire life.  
  
Dirk sits quietly, and his thumb hasn’t stilled from its place tracing patterns into your side. You mumble that after that, you had all agreed that nothing like that should ever happen to anyone again, and you became hunters. That’s why you were so prejudiced against demons until he went and saved you from being drowned by that nymph.  
  
He doesn’t say anything, just tugs you closer and leans his head against yours. It’s calming, wrapped in his warm embrace, and you notice that it wasn’t as tough to get off your chest as you thought it might be. He presses his lips to your temple, and softly apologizes for what happened to you. You nod and let your arms slip around him, burying your face in the crook of his neck. You are okay now, you whisper, and he brings up his other hand to gently comb his fingers through your hair.  
  



	45. Tuesday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I roleplayed with a Jake on parp about a week ago and this happened also i need to stall because the actual chapter isnt finished and I haven't even touched my summer homework and i need to get that load of shit done before august ends  
> I'm so sorry

THE CATALOG OF EVERYTHING THAT IS DUMB

Tuesday: Dirk accidentally ate lotion.  
Tuesday: Jake purposefully ate lotion so Dirk wouldn’t feel bad about his mistake.  
Tuesday: They are still high-fiving about it.  
Tuesday: The dare war has begun. Jake has so far eaten lip balm, perfume, and candle wax. He has also ridden a bike with skateboards beneath the wheels. He fell off.  
Tuesday: Dirk has eaten ink, tea leaves, and a jalapeno. He has also launched a firework at himself. One of his eyebrows are gone.  
Tuesday: Jake has attempted to use a yellow marker to draw back on Dirk’s eyebrow. He insists it is perfect.  
Tuesday: Dirk wholeheartedly agrees and is contemplating removing the other eyebrow to double the perfection.  
Tuesday: Jake has dared him to. Roxy and Jane had to wrestle away the shaving razor.  
Tuesday: Dirk keeps saying that they both have to look like the Nike symbol.  
Tuesday: Jake has taken a black marker and started coating Dirk’s arm in Nike symbols. He cannot seem to stop laughing.  
Tuesday: Dirk offered out his arm willingly and is now completely covered in Nike symbols. He looks very punchable.  
Tuesday: Jake has discovered that leaning against the drawn-on Nike symbols will imprint the excess ink onto his skin. There is now a contest to see how many symbols can be put on Jake without the marker.  
Tuesday: Jake has been covered in the ghostly imprints of the estranged and glorified checkmark that is the Nike symbol. Dirk is wheezing.

[](http://tinypic.com?ref=2qvbbeq)


	46. Ghost Hunt - Night Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! After today, I don't think I'll be able to bring you updates every two days anymore. I still have so much homework to get done, and this will most likely be the schedule following into the school year. I'll try to get something out at least once a week, but that's also a maybe, and I don't know how much time I'll have to spare. Sorry!
> 
> If you'd like to talk, my tumblr is plinket!

Your name is Jake English and you slept in until one in the afternoon today. You were actually one of the first people to wake up, but all things considered it’s a pretty decent hour since you all went to bed at around five. Everyone wanted to stay up and look over content to check if you accidentally caught anything strange and unobtrusive on camera. Before, orbs of light were immediately tossed because of their remarkable tendency to be dust particles, but the one everyone saw last night opened the door pretty wide for little lights actually being spirits. The orb apparently used to be a doctor in the maternity ward named Dolly, and that is just enough information to be able to get a little research done.  
  
However, no matter how hard Nurse Feferi looks, she can’t seem to find any records of a Dolly who worked in the maternity ward. She checks thrice for anything, but this Dolly seemingly just doesn’t exist. You all think it might be the work of whoever destroyed the Makara patient’s file and made it all but unreadable. It’s obvious the person got rid of the records of many people for whatever reason, so it isn’t too far-fetched a theory. It’s definitely fishy, though. Why are so many files missing? Was it just one person doing it? Or did they just have really shitty organization problems? You toss that thought immediately. Makara’s file was blatantly tampered with, so documents simply lost without a trace for no reason is something that you doubt would happen.  
  
Jane remembers something then, and she asks Feferi if she saw any files with a patient named Nepeta on them. The nurse immediately brightens and says she did, and quickly goes to retrieve the documents. She comes back with a thin stack of papers that have been stapled together, and they’re a little discolored from age and the ink has faded in some places, but it’s surprisingly quite easy to read through. Encouraged, you ask if she had seen any files about anyone named Latula or Mituna, but she admits she found nothing. You all just stick with the papers you’ve been able to retrieve.  
  
She was a young girl admitted to the hospital in May of 1922 for Tuberculosis. Her name was Nepeta Leijon, and she was terminal. She didn’t have many visitors, it seems. No one other than who you presume was her mother.  
  
It says that she died from her disease the November following her admission to the hospital, so she wasn’t killed by the nurse like so many other people were. You wonder why she can’t pass on.  
  
You share your findings with Aradia, who frowns sadly when she hears how little visitors Nepeta had. You also go over last night’s content with her, and everyone gets into interpreting together. The nurse was apparently the biggest bad around there, and she often killed people. The question though, is why? The most information you have about her are the experiences from Dirk, whose heart was taken from him without consent. Why his heart, though? Was it _just_ his heart? Did she take anyone else’s heart? What did she do with it? You have so many questions, and all they’re leading you in is a circle.  
  
This case is unlike any other you’ve ever experienced before. The spirits are nearly all intelligent, not just residual as many often are. The mystery surrounding the abandoned section is extensive and engaging, and you could pour over it for days and still have nothing to show for it but a headache. You can tell Jane is quite fired up about this, and you suppose you would be as well if you had the same passion for detective work as she does. However, there is no questioning that you are intensely curious as to what exactly went on in this hospital, and you are positive that the seams will unravel for you all in due time.  
  
When you enter Nepeta’s name into google, all you get are articles on catnip and some Swedish politician. You guess she didn’t have any descendants or siblings, so finding someone related to her for an interview is out. Perhaps tonight you could all go down to visit her to see if she knows anything about the nurse. She shouldn’t be afraid to talk about her, since she wasn’t killed by her. If she has any information, that is. It’s worth a shot, you guess.  
  
You’d also like to see if you can find that Dirk fellow again, his responses were so very coherent. It might be helpful to know why. After all, when you wrap this case up, your team will do everything in their power to help the ghosts pass on, so knowing as much as you can about them assists immensely. Sometimes you can help, other times you aren’t so lucky, and there’s no guarantee that you can aid in their journey, but your missions are a lot more fruitful when you are around for whatever reason. Everything just seems to work better when you are around. That’s why John asks you to be on the show so often.  
  
It’s conflicting, because on one hand you are really not that big on ghosts and they scare you quite a bit, but on the other hand you are so very interested in the history of the hospital. You know it was opened in February of 1921 and the problematic half was closed in November of 1959, but what happened between that time frame? More importantly, why did it happen?

All these inquiries gnaw at your mind and stand forthright in your thoughts. You doubt you’ll be able to rest proper until you’ve discovered the answer to all the questions bugging you. Just last night you dreamt you were back in the General Surgery unit, hiding from the approaching footsteps again. Except they never faded out, they kept on going, the clack of heels a never-ending echo in your ears. If you focus enough, you can still hear it. An almost aimless sound that chills you to the core.  
  
Late into the evening, Feferi sees you all to the entrance of the abandoned hospital and tells you to stay safe. After that, you all walk through as you bring up your cameras, and the door closes behind you with an ominous c-click. A bit of light streams through the window of the door, illuminating the area just enough for you to see your hands. After everyone has adjusted their camera’s settings and can see through the viewports, you set off.  
  
Rats clamor to get out of your way and hide from the modicum of light you have, and you are trying to ignore the way they suddenly shuffle through your screen. You walk past a wheeled cart that you are quite certain wasn’t there the day before, the tray covered in clip boards and empty drip bags. John comments that this place is one of the most active spots he’s ever been to, and you agree. It could give Ancient Rams Inn a run for its money. It could probably steal all the money. Buy a new car with that money. With one of those dangly dice things on the rear-view mirror. Shit would be great.  
  
With a bit of wandering, you find the ICU in the same disheveled and dirty state it was in previously. Jane takes out the spirit box and switches it on, the device crackling to life with a buzz. She asks if Nepeta is here at the moment, to which she receives no response. You continue to walk about the unit, occasionally feeling the temperature dip and hearing the squeaky wheels of slowly moving beds, though nothing is moving at all. Other spirits make an appearance, but they don’t do much more than touch one of you. Jane upholds her title for being touched the most, and at this point you don’t think it even surprises her anymore. The ghosts always seem to want to grab her for some reason, you haven’t a clue why. The same way you have no idea why they’re more active around you. The both of you together make an amalgamation of a paranormal investigator’s wet dream. One time John sent you off alone with her, and you got locked in the basement where all you heard was straight screaming for a solid three minutes. You had a lot of footage of just you and her looking back and forth at each other wondering what the fuck was happening. You are pretty sure it turned into a short-lived meme on the internet.  
  
Two hours pass, and still your team shows no sign of giving up. You’re not even sure if this Nepeta patient can even give any groundbreaking information on the details of what went down here, but she’s one of your biggest leads as of yet. Your team plods on in searching for her until John finally gives an exasperated sigh and says that you are getting nowhere, so he sends you off with Jane as he and Jade stay behind and continue to look for Nepeta. At least one of you is bound to capture something of substance to the mysteries.  
  
You were actually quite content to walk around with minimal ghostly happenings, but it looks like you won’t be able to live such a calm night tonight. At least this time you’ll have Jane with you, so you won’t be scared shitless. You arrange to meet back up with them in three hours at the door to leave before you and Jane set off to find the General Surgery unit.  
  
Jane has you lead the way, since you’ve been there before, and all the while you can’t help but feel uneasy at the thought of possibly running into the nurse. What if you came face to face with her? What would she do to you?  
  
You hope you find Dirk instead. He is a much less frightening specter than the nurse, and you aren’t really afraid of him at all. Simply curious. He seemed concerned with your team’s safety as well as your own well-being, seeing as he protected you from the apparition of the Makara patient and hid you from what you believe was the nurse. It really had to have been her, why else would he react the way he did? He’s stood up to a violent serial murderer at least twice, so you doubt much more can make him uneasy than the one who killed him. Unless there’s a bigger bad around? You doubt it, you would have heard about it by now.  
  
When you finally find the GSU, Jane seems eager to contact Dirk and speak with him. As you pad through the halls, you keep an EMF reader in your hand and watch it for spikes and temperature drops. Jane has her digital recorder at the ready, waiting for the chance to use it. You don’t know if she’ll need to, considering how he proved he could talk with you without the assistance of the devices. When you pass by the room you were in last time, the one with the door hanging precariously from its hinges, the meter jumps and gives a high-pitched whine. Jane gestures for you to follow as she steps inside, immediately asking if Dirk is here with the both of you. The response is an exasperated sigh.  
  
_Why are you_ still here _?_ He asks, a specific emphasis on his words, and you recognize his voice. Jane is delighted that he can talk without the use of the digital recorder and responds that you are all looking for the answers to the questions you have about this place.  
  
He says that it’s exhausting protecting you from the other entities, he’s not a being of limitless power. You apologize and promise to leave as soon as you’ve uncovered the truth, and ask if he has any more information regarding the things that went on when this place still operated. He says that he was one of the last people to die here, so he can only tell you things from what he’s heard from the others.  
  
Jane asks about who the others are. He gives the ghost in the maternity ward as an example. The one you’ve bugged the most. She was killed right after she had had a baby girl. Didn’t even get to hold her. It was pretty sad, actually.  
  
You ask if he knows any reason why the nurse would do something like this. He doesn’t know, maybe she was just some batshit crazy asshole who really liked organs or something. Jane frowns at this. There has to be some kind of motive, right? Who just up and decides to start murdering people for their innards all of a sudden? Surely it couldn’t have simply been a sick and twisted hobby. If so, you wonder if there are any hidden rooms filled to the brim with jars of organs floating in formaldehyde. That would be really creepy. Would returning their organs put their souls to rest? How on earth would you be able to accomplish such a task in the first place, though? There are so many restless spirits about, too many to count properly.  
  
Jane wants to know if he knows anything about the doctor named Dolly. He admits that he doesn’t really talk with her, but he knows she’s a good spirit.  
  
_You know,_ he begins, _you could probably get a better understanding if you asked them._  
  
You suppose he has a point, but he speaks so much clearer than any ghost you’ve ever encountered. It’s almost as if he’s alive and in the room with you, and you might be easily fooled if not for the noticeable chill within the room. You ask why he can speak so well.  
  
He can talk easily because he can remember. Remember what, Jane asks.  
  
_What it’s like to be alive._  
  
The statement sends a pang of sadness through your chest.  
  
_Especially with the two of you here._  
  
You don’t understand what he means. He says that you feel like hope and life.  
  
_Hard to come by when you’re dead,_ he murmurs. Another melancholy wave washes over you. Jane asks if that’s why spirirts always show such interest in the two of you, and he reponds with a ‘probably’. You suppose this makes sense, even though you aren’t entirely sure what it actually feels like to be alive even though you most certainly are at the moment. It might be more of a plethora of things, like the race of your heartbeat or the sensation of breathing or an excitement over something you love. Or maybe it’s just feeling in its entirety, with the sprawling span of emotions you can experience encapsuled into what one would call ‘alive’. You think it would be an easier concept to grasp if you were suddenly robbed of it, and therefore could probably pinpoint exactly what is missing.  
  
He says that the feelings you both give off are too faint to charge any other spirits, it’s more of a ‘on the tip of your tongue’ feeling. It’s vaguely recognizable, but they just can’t put their finger on it, and that’s why they show such an interest in you, for the lethologica you induce. You are a thought at the back of their mind that begs to be pulled forward, but they simply can’t. They’ve already forgotten what it’s like to live and hope.  
  
You ponder if they could possibly be reminded, would they percieve it as a completely new feeling? Would it then lose its effect and just be some tragic form of cryptomnesia?  
  
Can you describe the nurse for us? Requests Jane, looking around at everything through her camera. There’s a bit of a pause before he says that she has glasses and that her hair is pulled into a bun, but when it’s down, it’s wild. He tries to avoid her as much as possible, but since he was most likely her last victim, she’s more likely to be around him than anyone else. Which is why you should both really leave here as soon as possible. It’s the farthest from safe you can get. Homeplate is on the other side of the goddamn hospital. Maybe not even then, just get the fuck out of dodge. This place is already overflowing with dead people, they don’t need anymore.  
  
You would like to heed his warnings, but at the same time you would protest vehemently. You still don’t know so much about this place. It would eat at you for the rest of your life.  
  
You ask him when he died, but you receive no response. You ask again, but it seems as though he’s left suddenly. Jane pouts at this, and you were getting such great information, too! He answered quite a few questions you had had about things, and you both lament over what else he could have possibly told you. After you both give disappointed sighs, you decide to check around the other places.  
  
Jane asks if anyone ever picked up the digital recorder you had left in Latula’s room, to which you respond in the negative. You don’t think you even listened to the one you retrieved from the maternity ward. Who knows what could be on it. Jane says that you both should definitely fetch it, it could have anything on it! Normally you would agree, but going to get the recorder would mean going back into the psych ward, which you think should be done with everyone together.  
  
She assures you that things will be fine, they only ran into Latula and Mituna last time and they were rather pleasant, wouldn’t you agree? You suppose they were, and probably against your better judgement you consent to venturing into the psych ward once again.  
  
The walk there, the frigid air stays generally the same, but the goosebumps on your arms raise high. It feels like you’re constantly being brushed over by curious hands, an inch between truly touching. It’s an unsettling sensation, and you shudder on more than one occasion. The notion makes you queasy, being felt but not actually feeling it. Just fingers hovering over your skin.  
  
Cockroaches jump away from your path fervently, their presence in the hospital like a festering wound. You follow along the halls, looking up at the signs to be sure you’re headed in the right direction. Navigating through the darkness with just a small screen never gets easier, you observe sullenly, and you continue on your way. Your point-of-view is terribly restricted and shrunk , but it’s the best you have.  
  
Much too soon for your liking, you find yourself walking into the psych ward. A feeling of dread courses through your blood heavily, and you swallow in a useless effort to subdue the emotion. Beneath your feet, cracked tile clinks together under your weight. You are pretty sure there weren’t as many shattered tiles before. It might just be you, but you could have sworn there were more whole ones than broken ones. You pass by the first room you entered, where nothing happened. The door sits open. Jade had closed it last time. Another flood of ice seeps into your body.  
  
You both make sure to keep extra quiet and speak hardly above a whisper, stepping slowly and cautiously as not to alert any other ghosts. You guess you’d be alright if Latula or Mituna found you, but not anyone else from this ward probably. Jane makes sure to look every which way before carefully opening the door to the room, keeping it from creaking, and you enter the padded cell. The air here is especially cold, even with your jacket covering you, and you take a deep breath before heading over to where you had set the digital recorder.  
  
Except it’s not there. It’s not anywhere in the room. Jane looks behind the door and tucked in the corners, but she comes up empty-handed. The last one had also been moved, but it was still in the same room. Where did it go? Where was it taken? Was it Latula or someone else? With a new set of questions added to your already overwhelming pile, you leave the room with her in hopes of finding it. You both make sure to avoid the room where Makara made his appearance the last time, and check in janitor’s closets and bathrooms.  
  
As you scrounge around in the restroom with Jane, you find a necklace holding an oblong locket. It hangs from the pipes beneath the sinks, swaying back and forth ever so slightly. You pick it up and click it open, but it’s much too dark to view what’s inside clearly, even through the nightvision on your camera. The image is grainy and shadowed, and you’d need better light to see it. You get to your feet and move to take a flashlight out from your pocket, but you freeze in your tracks. In the grimy mirror above the sinks, you see a tenebrous form just behind you.  
  
Frantically, you twist around to see a woman in an outdated nurse uniform and glasses. Her eyes are wide in rage, and in moments she’s reaching out to you. Quickly, you draw back and give a surprised shout, but she silences you by clamping her hands around your neck and pressing you against the basin of the sink.  
  
_You fucking piece of shit._  
[](http://tinypic.com?ref=2dvv0i1)  
Her voice is low and saturated in loathing as she squeezes your windpipe, her hands freezing against your skin. A strained sound scrapes up your throat, and you hear Jane scream for the spirit to let you go.  
  
_I’ll never forgive you._  
  
Your body is gelid, tensed beneath her strangling grasp. The camera falls from your hand as you try to pry her fingers from your neck. The device meets the ground with an echoing clack. It’s almost as if she’s reaching beneath your flesh, she’s squeezing so tightly. You struggle to breathe, your senses quickly overtaken by panic as you fight her grip, your back digging into the sink painfully. Blood pounds in your ears with every desperate pump of your heart, and you can’t hear Jane rushing forward to help.  
  
_Die._  
  
You think you just might.  
  
Jane takes ahold of the nurse and yanks hard. She releases her grip on you and stumbles back a few feet. Your cousin keeps her flashlight trained on the spirit as she picks up your camera and pulls you out of the bathroom. It doesn’t take more than a second for the feeling in your legs to come back, and you race after her as adrenaline swoops through your veins, your neck most likely bruised. Your breathing still feels hindered. You keep sprinting until you’ve made it out of the psych ward.  
  
Jane looks behind you, flashlight illuminating the halls brightly, but nothing is pursuing you. Your heart remains abuzz in fear, and you place a hand over your chest as you suck in a few rattling breaths. Jane is by your side in a moment, asking if you’re okay worriedly. Numbly, you nod, trying to steady your pulse. You thank her gratefully for saving you, and she says that you don’t need to thank her, she’s just glad you’re alright. She offers out her hand to you, saying that you and she should find John and Jade to wrap it up for tonight. You point out that there are still a couple hours left in your investigation, but she shakes her head. Says that your health is more important.  
  
Relenting, you take her hand and walk with her back to the ICU, your grip a little tighter than normal. It isn’t hard to locate the rest of your family, since they have the spirit box on and it’s rather noisy. They seem excited when you find them, so you assume they’ve caught something cool on tape. Once they’ve been informed of the situation, they immediately agree to return to the other side and go back to the hotel.  
  
As you walk the corridors toward the exit, you become aware of the chain in your other hand. You haven’t dropped the locket from before. John talks to you and Jane, saying that they had finally been able to reach Nepeta, and she told them a couple things. A bunch of things that just made a bunch of new questions arise, but also some things that cleared a few clouds up.  
  
Her name was Condie Peixes, and Nepeta described her as ‘misunderstood’.


	47. Royal Affairs Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somebody name this AU for me holy shit.

Your name is Dirk Strider and you are walking briskly through the palace halls. The morning chimes sing with a sudden resonating clang, the sun well on its way to rising. Light pours over the endless land in soft beams that cast shy shadows about the sprawling kingdom. It's a magnificent sight, one that never fails to steal your gaze as you walk past the tall windows.  
  
In your hands is a tray weighted down by Prince Jacob's breakfast, food freshly made. The tile beneath your feet sounds quietly with every step, and the glass plates clink together with silverware lightly. The royal corridor sweeps into view as you walk along, and soon enough you are knocking thrice against the Prince's door. He calls for you to come in, and you open it keeping the tray balanced in one hand. You bow respectfully, returning both hands to the tray as you offer him a good morning.  
  
He is still rubbing sleep from his eyes, sitting up in bed and returning your greeting groggily. You walk over and present his meal to him, two slices of lightly buttered bread alongside a bowl of strawberry bisque garnished with mint leaves and blueberries. He accepts it and you place it on his lap before stepping back. Say that you hope the food is to his liking before padding off to draw a bath for him.  
  
His chambers are connected to a secluded bath room where a large circular tub of white marble sits, decorated by ivy dipped in gold. You get to work drawing water and heating it, filling the tub three quarters of the way. Clean towels are placed neatly beside the bath for him, and you wipe your hands dry on your trousers before returning to the Prince's main chambers. By now, he's finished eating, and you remove the tray from his lap, placing it on the table at his bedside. As he slips out from beneath the covers, he asks you how your wounds are doing. You inform him that they are on their way to healing and thank him for his gracious concern.  
  
Once he's picked out the clothes he'll be wearing, he disappears into the bath room to clean himself up. You change the sheets on his bed as he bathes, making sure the spread is freshly washed, free of stains and unsightly snags in the crisp fabric. Smoothing out the ornate duvet, you step back to make sure it lays even and symmetrical. A few adjustments are tended to before you quickly head out again, making a stop at the kitchen once more for morning tea. Other servants have already gone about preparing it, so all you need to do is carry everything back. You have plenty of experience transporting scalding water from place to place, so you make easy work of this the way you have the past few days you've taken up your position as the Prince's personal servant. You bring tea every morning, afternoon, and evening. Apparently tea is the drink of the gods. You've never had it. You know it smells nice, though. Kind of sweet, kind of bitter. You suspect that that's how it tastes as well.  
  
After you've made the ten minute round-trip, the Prince is done with his bath. He comes out of the bath room at the same time you enter his chambers, and you move to place the tea tray on the glossy finished surface of his table. He's busy tying the strings on his tunic as he walks over, his hair still a little damp. Once he's tied the knot, he pulls out a chair at the table and takes a seat, watching as you open the tea box for him, allowing him to choose what kind to brew. There's an admirable collection, Earl Grey, Jasmin, Darjeeling, matcha, mint, even a blend especially for autumn, and that's not even all of them. He chooses the mint, and you drop a small spoonful into the pot. It will need to steep for a bit, so you excuse yourself to carry the tray you transported his breakfast on back to the kitchen.  
  
When you return, you find him looking over documents and letters, a few slips of parchment before him as well as a glass calligraphy pen and a jar of ink. He twirls the pen from finger to finger as he glances up at you from the documents. The motion is curiously captivating, and if you didn't have better self-control you would probably stare, but you focus on keeping your head down and walking over to pour his cup of tea.  
  
The pot is hot beneath your palms, not enough to hurt, just to notice, and you carefully tip the spout, watching as the dark tea streams into the delicate cup. Meanwhile, the Prince watches you, green eyes agleam in the morning light of fall. His gaze travels from your face to your spider-like fingers, observing your attentive disposition as you replace the pot on the tray. Ask if he'd like any sugar. He says one spoonful would be fine, and you drop his desired amount into the tea without spilling a single grain. It dissolves quickly as you stir it and hand it to the Prince. He thanks you, which you still perceive as peculiar, but you assure him it was your pleasure. As he takes a tentative sip, you ask if he is still in need of your service. His sight drifts to the window, says that he'd like to go down to the fields later today to practice archery. What kind of a Prince would he be if he let his battle skills gather rust? Surely a poor one.  
  
When the sun reaches its zenith, he pushes away the documents listing the rises and drops in the trade market and stands with a stretch. Gestures for you to come with him down to the fields. You follow along quietly, and on the way, you pass your brother, who you exchange a subtle nod with. The air outside grows chillier by the day, leaves beginning to fade into brilliant shades of warmth. Soon, you'll have to add tending to the hearth to your extensive list of daily responsibilities. Nothing new, really, and you make a mental note to remember.  
  
Down at the archery area, you hold an armful of arrows as he draws back the bow, a look of casual concentration on his face. He lets an arrow fly and it hits the upper left-hand portion of the target, far from the bullseye. He hardly seems discouraged as you hand him another arrow. That one hits the right-hand portion, perfectly level with the other. The trend follows, and at first you think he just sucks at archery since he's nowhere near hitting the center, but his plans slowly reveal themselves. He makes a smiley face out of arrows on the target. That has to take some serious precision. Damn. You fetch the arrows and clear the target. He shoots several more simple pictures such as a diamond and Prospit's moon. You are kind of floored by his unconventional display of skill, and you would be totally content to stay here for hours just watching him shoot stippled pictures into the target, but someone approaches him as you retrieve the arrows once again. Upon returning, you find the Prince holding a conversation with Lady Latula, who brightens when she sees you. She asks Prince Jacob if she can borrow you for a bit, to which he agrees. Excitement bubbles in your chest as you realize what's happening, and she grins at you, waving for you to follow as she turns to walk to the sword fighting area. Once you've replaced the arrows, you trot after her, not noticing the Prince trail along as well.  
  
Latula has her own sword, one she told you was a gift from her mother. It is a make of the highest quality, not a single sword is like it. You, on the other hand, choose from the wide selection of palace-provided swords since you don't actually own one. You think it would be pretty neat if you did, though. After she deemed you a good enough fighter to use a real sword, actually having one has kind of been an unrealistic daydream for you. You've told no one of this.  
  
When you and she settle on a patch of earth to spar, you square up and start with personal rules.

First, a bow. Then, three steps circling right of each other before dashing forward, clashing swords with a ringing clang and beginning the battle.  
  
She takes the first attack, swinging diagonally downwards in a rapid blur. You catch the strike before it hits with the flat end of your sword, forcefully shoving it away. With a jump back to avoid her next attack, you switch hands and advance, your blade singing as it collides with hers. Both of you pull away quickly, since you have experience with remaining locked for too long. The other would suddenly jump away instead of trying to force them back, leaving them off-balance and teetering, making it child's play to knock them over.  
  
Latula lunges forward on nimble feet, slicing at you, which you parry and jab with a counter-strike. She blocks and reels back, avoiding your next attack before dropping into a crouch and swinging at your shins. A quick hop has you safely dodging, and once your feet touch the ground you retaliate with a practiced stab. She fades back once more before advancing rapidly to your side, forcing you to pivot and grip the hilt with both hands as you block her downwards strike. Your arms feel the sharp shock of force from her attack, and you quickly shed her blade with a bend of your knees and a short retreat. When you step forward again, you catch her sword and deflect it, aiming a fluid stroke at her side. She blocks it just before it hits, and her blade sweeps down the shaft of yours to clink against the guard before it thrusts forward, angled on your own handle. Simultaneously, you raise the hilt as you drop your body, her attack brushing dangerously close to your hair.  
  
In a flash, you're back in your stance, eyes narrowed in focus as you charge her again, your swords clattering loudly as they catch the sun's rays. Your mind is a lake of clarity, flowing with the hits in smooth sequence. She feigns a left strike before falling back and returning with a jab, and you jump out of its path before countering with a swing at her neck. It doesn't make it through her defenses, and she shoves your sword away in a swift parry. You both step back, footwork in sync as you step around each other. Soon after, Latula breaks the stand-off and shoots forward again, sending you dodging backwards. Her blade sweeps in fast pursuit, but you catch it with your own and push hard. She is forced to withdraw, and you follow through with a swing. Somewhere in between, a smirk grows on your face as a grin gleams on hers, the two of you caught up in the heat of battle.  
  
She strikes at your left side, forcing you to block as she slips out her foot and sweeps it below your ankles on your right. The attack from both angles disrupts your balance and has you tipping backwards, a hiss of pain leaving clenched teeth as you land on your healing whip-wounds. You think you feel the scabs tear, but you pay it no mind as you roll out of range from Latula's next attack. Once you regain your footing, you respond by lunging and sending her into the defensive with a quick succession of attacks. Your barrage makes her step back, but you follow after without relenting. She blocks a strike from overhead and twirls the sword to twist your wrist before launching her own series of attacks. Your blades clang shrilly, and you can feel the vibrations rocketing through the weapon with each hit.  
  
With a duck and a pivot, you avoid her swipe at your shoulders and carry through with a swing at her knees, which is promptly blocked. Before you can prepare another attack, however, she orders you to stop. This confuses you. She never stops a spar prematurely, showing off her skills is one of her favorite things to do. You are kind of disappointed, since you were having a good time fighting with her. She tells you to stand. You ask her what's wrong once you get to your feet. She's too competitive to call a draw, so you aren't sure what it could be, but then she asks you to turn around. You oblige her demand, and she tsks at you. Says that you should have said something about being injured, you're bleeding through your shirt.  
  
It figures the wounds would break and seep when you were sparring. You should have made a better effort to hide your back from her once you felt the scabs first crack. No wonder it was cold and burning all at once. You try to pass it off, it doesn't hurt, you're hardly injured at all! But then Latula pokes at your back and you jolt in pain. She remarks that you are full of shit. You were totally whipped, weren't you? Slick is an ass, am I right?  
  
With a neutral expression, you turn back around to face her, a hand moving to the awkward task of soothing the irritated welts. You aren't permitted to speak badly of anyone higher in class than you, which is a good portion of the population, but you would completely agree if you were so inclined. You apologize for not informing her of your less-than-perfect state. She waves it off and says that you should bandage them, but you haven't the time to perform such tasks as that.  
  
In your poor defense, you fail to notice the Prince approach you from the side. His voice catches you a bit off-guard, and you turn to him with your head tilted downwards. He says that if you won't see to it to care for your wounds, then he will. You shake your head, you could never trouble him so! You feel as if all you've done lately is create problems, and you aren't fain to make more. Prince Jacob says that this scene gives him an overwhelming sense of déjà-vu, since it's occurred twice before and in all honesty it's getting old.  
  
You shrink beneath his scrutiny, and his scolding gaze softens. He apologizes for coming off so harsh. Reasons that obsequious though you are, you are still a piece of work. You think it to be in your best interest to hold your tongue at this, so you chew at the inside of your cheek and keep your sight averted. The Prince turns to Lady Latula, he's sorry, but he'll have to cut things short. She nods understandingly and says she doesn't mind as she sheathes her sword. Prince Jacob tells you that you'll be returning to the castle with him, and you nod before plodding off to put away your sword. You are kind of crestfallen that you couldn't carry your spar with Latula to a decisive end since she can't ask you to fight as often as she once did. She's busy with knightly duties like helping the current pages and squires train.  
  
As you trail after the Prince, you can't help but feel a little guilty for disrupting his sacrosanct schedule. You are supposed to help, not hinder! Some servant you are. He leads you back to his chambers, asking you to take a seat and remove your shirt. You do as you're told, settling on one of the plethora of couches available as he moves to retrieve a roll of bandages.  
  
Soon enough, the Prince is beside you, gently dabbing at your freshly-opened wounds with a damp cloth. Every so often, you wince, but you think you cover it up pretty okay. After he's cleaned and dried the lacerations on your back, he begins to place gauze over them, wrapping your abdomen tightly in bandages. The process is kind of intimate in your opinion, seeing as he has to loop his arms around you to correctly patch you up. You don't actually realize how close he is until he remarks that you are an impressive sword fighter, his words right by your ear. Your heart jumps as you hear him, but you evenly respond that his skill in archery is something to marvel at as well. You hear him laugh a little as he pulls the bandages over your shoulder. Do you really think so? He asks. You nod wholeheartedly. Wrappings are tugged over your shoulder once more as the ghost of his breath traces over the nape of your neck. Shivers trickle down your spine, and you do your best to suppress them. He notices anyway. Asks if you're cold. You guess you are, a little, but you don't think that's what's got you. For the sake of ease, you tell him that it is indeed a little chilly. He assures you he'll be done in a moment, the wrappings circling around you once again.  
  
Before long, he's secured the bandages and you've slipped on your shirt. He frowns, says that it's still stained in your blood, but you reply that you can scrub it clean without a problem. You did last time, and it wasn't too hard. There was a lot more then, too. The Prince furrows his brows, but nods all the same. Informs you that until your wounds have healed, he'll see to it that they are bandaged properly. You don't try to talk him out of it.  
  
It takes about two weeks for your lashes to completely heal. Prince Jacob keeps fast to his word, making sure you are bandaged every day. You are left with pink scars up and down your back, skin miserably malformed, but you don't really care since you can't actually see them. They’re probably sick as hell, though. Besides, even that fades little by little as autumn begins to recede. November creeps by with leaves that fall like stars and hearths that crackle warmly, carrying the scent of fire and hot tea. December begins with a grand celebration, the Prince and Princess's birthdays a glorious affair. You are thankfully excused from having to light the candles on the chandelier, mostly because of your excuse that you are a personal servant now. You've got other things to do! It's not true, but it works. Who's complaining? Not you.  
  
In the time scrambling around preparing for the party, you meet up with Roxy. You kind of miss hanging around her, but being a personal servant has really changed your schedule up. You don't even sleep in the servant's quarters anymore, you've been relocated to a room much nearer to the Prince's, which you have to yourself. This still kind of boggles your mind. A room that is yours? With a bed? Unheard of. You should invite Roxy and the others up there sometime. Get the old crew back together. It'd be a good time.  
  
As you polish the decorative tables lining the palace halls with her, you catch up on what you've missed. Apparently Dave fell down the stairs last week. You aren't surprised. She asks how your new role is going and you shrug, relaying that the Prince is pretty nice and genuine. An all-around cool guy. Roxy tells you that she's heard Princess Jade is really kind, too. Maybe it's just a thing with them. Most other people of high-class are dicks, with the occasional exception, like Lady Latula.  
  
You ask about the palace cat, who just kind of lives here and chases mice around. No one knows what its name is or where it came from. You all just kind of let it happen. She says she hasn't seen it today, but it's definitely somewhere. A lurker, that one. You nod thoughtfully.  
  
Going about your various duties, you and she set out platters of food on the tables in the ballroom, the cusp of evening approaching as the sun drifts away, a brilliant phantom below the cloudline. Servants bustle about every which way, organized and walking with purpose. The orchestra is setting up against the far corner, the static sound of chromatic scales and other warm-ups being played. It isn’t long before you hear the palace chimes ring, a soaring voice above the clatter. People will begin to arrive soon.  
  
Just as the bottom of the sun kisses the horizon, nobles make their way into the palace, quickly locating the ballroom in anticipation for the festivities. Your role of passing out champagne and hors d’oeuvres commences, however this time you stick close to the royal table in case the Prince ever has a need for you. Throughout the evening, you make occasional stops to refill the Prince’s drink, and each time he offers you a quick smile before returning to chatting with the guests permitted a seat at the table.  
  
As you tip the pitcher and pour mead into his glass, a noblewoman snaps her fingers, asking you refill her cup as well. With an obedient nod, you move around the chairs and begin to pour her drink. She looks up at you, and out of the corner of your eye you can see disdain cross over her face. You think nothing of it until she turns to the Prince, asking if you were of Derse descent. He responds that yes, indeed you are, and again you are surprised that he remembered.  
  
The woman casts you another demeaning sidelong glance as she remarks that he is incredibly trusting to let someone of your blood fulfill a position such as this. Dersites are said to be duplicitous and irresponsible, she opines.  
  
Ever since the debacle with the assassination attempt, opinions of Derse have drastically diminished. It doesn’t matter that it was the greatest empire to date, or the fact that the emphasis on education lives on in those of your blood today. People’s minds are quick to make generalizations. Shortcuts are always less complicated. You keep your face impassive as you straighten, though your grip on the pitcher tightens a fraction. She can make defamatory assumptions all she likes, you don’t care.  
  
Prince Jacob tilts his head, the pleasant expression he sports tightening a little. Why, he had no idea she kept such thoughts. Personally, he doesn’t think badly of anyone’s blood, only of those rude enough to believe such ignorant stereotypes. It’s rather obvious they don’t know what brand of swill spews from their mouths, for if they did they would realize how incredibly wrong they are. He shrugs off-handedly. Smiles. He asks her what she knows of Derse culture, of the history surrounding it, but she doesn’t respond. Just looks affronted, mouth slightly agape. He continues on.  
  
It was a civilization rich with knowledge and flowing in philosophy. If he recalls correctly, her official family crest holds a statement by a Derse philosopher. What was it? He feigns a look of rumination before relaying it to her: Education can build peace and break the cycle of poverty. He suggests that she take a leaf out of her own book and maybe research a bit before stating such thoughts. Until then, perhaps she may find better company at the other tables.  
  
Unable to talk back, the woman squares her jaw and stands, stalking away from the royal table. A rush of admiration floods through your chest as you look to the Prince. He sips at his drink before turning to chat with his sister. He just stood up for you, to a woman you are quite sure was a major candidate to be his suitor. Someone so much more important than you could ever be. He didn’t even hesitate. You stare down at the pitcher gripped in your hands. Surely it was only him disagreeing with her opinion? But his retorts had more heat to them than that.  
  
In your swirling mind, you realize you are dawdling, and you promptly return to your duties. The rest of the night, it occupies your thoughts. It leaves you feeling strangely special, but you tell yourself that you are reading too far into it. You focus on serving champagne and chocolate, but it continues to sit in the back of your mind.  
  
As it’s a celebration devoted entirely to the Prince and Princess’s birthdays, they can’t politely take their leave until all the festivities have come to an end. The moon is beginning to grow faint once the party is carried to its full extent, and Prince Jacob hardly misses a beat in retiring to his chambers. You walk with him back to his room, a candle held between you to light the way. After he changes his clothes, he slips into bed with a sigh, rubbing tired eyes. You remember him saying that entertaining guests was exhausting.  
  
You wish him a good night’s rest, and before you move to leave, you hesitate. Thank him for earlier. He looks to you and gives a soft smile, a real one that does funny things to your heart, and says he’d do it again in a heartbeat. You nod, happy, and say that you won’t encroach on his time of respite any longer. With a glowing feeling in your chest, you leave by candlelight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song that inspired this AU tbh [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eFqy56mmAhc)


	48. Birthday (Chase)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll post this early since I have things to do tomorrow  
> I have to talk to people I don't know haha great
> 
> Oh man, you can tell when I've got writer's block bad when every other sentence is a joke.

Your name is Jake English and you are in the process of assisting Roxy in putting wards up around your apartment. They'll prevent you from being found by any unwanted visitors. Probably not solicitors, though. Just demons. They aren't foolproof, but they do help a lot. You watch intently as she grinds black berries, arachnid venom, and charcoal before pouring a small vial of your blood into the grainy mix. Once everything has been sufficiently blended, you slide her a few slips of paper. She picks up a paintbrush and dips it into the dark liquid, swirling it around a bit. After tapping the excess off into the wooden bowl, she begins painting complex sigils onto the paper.  
  
  
  
With every practiced stroke, she whispers chants in a language you don't understand. Once she's completed drawing the sigils, you collect a few and go around hiding them in every room with her, making sure they can't be seen since you'll have a hard time explaining where you got such odd wards to your family.  
  
Dirk is here, too, his baby brother in his lap as he sits on the windowsill, watching Dave as he bubbles at the birds outside. Every so often, one flies right up to the opening, twittering at the both of them. Dave kicks in excitement, and Dirk nods to the winged creature before it takes off again, a speck against the cold sky. You wonder if he's receiving updates about the city and of the yet unknown whereabouts of Caliborn.  
  
As you paste another ward against the wall behind a bookshelf, you ask him what he's talking about with the birds. His eyes flick to you for a second before he shrugs. Mostly they're telling him they found shiny things, but some of them are actually being helpful. He knows that Calliope reached the World Tree alright, and she's in the process of getting the sword blessed. They don't know how long that will take, since she's been there for a couple days already, but he doesn't think it should be too much longer. You hum in response and move to the kitchen, where you plaster a ward at the very back of your top cupboard.  
  
From the other room, you hear Roxy laughing at something before she calls to you. What the hell is this? She asks before poking her head into the kitchen and waving around a card. You hop down from your chair and take a closer look, seeing that it's the birthday card you had gotten for your cousins. It's meant to be given to a one-year-old, but you crossed it out to make all the ones twenty-twos. It reads:  
  
Hey, little ~~cutie!~~ birth  
Look what you've ~~accomplished~~ birthday  
Here you are, just ~~one~~ 22 year old, and already the whole world loves you!  
Happy ~~1~~ 22st birthday, ~~sweetie!~~ birthday  
  
-Jake and Jade :)  
  
You are certain they will love it. Roxy sure seems to. She tells you about how one time Dirk got her some cool rocks for her birthday. When prompted for an explanation, he just said 'rocks-y'. You look over at said blond who is staring pointedly out the window, and you snort a little.  
  
She puts the card back where she found it on your coffee table. Soon after, Roxy produces a little obsidian crystal from her purse and plops it into the remainder of the mix, saying that it would absorb the charm of anonymity if you let it soak for about three hours. After that, you can carry it with you and be off the radar wherever you go! How neat.  
  
Once all the wards have been put up, Roxy announces she has to work in a bit, so she gives you and Dirk a hug before pecking Dave lightly on the forehead and disappearing. It makes you wonder, does Dirk have a job? You ask him, and he says that he used to, before Dave came around. He had to quit in order to make sure his brother didn't burn down the entire apartment complex. He didn't really need the job in the first place, since his parents were just dripping in wealth, it was mostly to get himself out and about since he's a bit of a recluse. You nod in reply, watching as Dirk gently takes hold of Dave's tiny feet and wiggles them around. If you recall correctly, he's about five months old now. Maybe when he turns one, you'll get him a birthday card for an eighty-year-old. Or a stuffed animal. Either's fine. The humor of the card would probably be lost on him, so you think a stuffed animal would be your best bet.  
  
You pause as you observe Dirk playing with his little brother, realizing that there's a chance Dave might not live to see his first birthday unless something is done about Caliborn. You've known that the basilisk was after his life, but it's only now sinking in. You have a feeling that Caliborn wouldn't sit around dawdling instead of gathering the remaining ingredients for his immortality potion, and you have no way of knowing how far along he's come. The notion makes you uneasy, and you can only imagine how it makes Dirk feel. You hope he completes the sword soon. Until then, now he has another safe place to reside if the need arises. More or less. Your family still doesn't know about him, so it still might not be the best place. You could probably hide him in your room or something. Blast it, you really have to tell them soon. You're surprised they haven't caught on already.  
  
Dirk gets up from his spot on the window, closing it as he holds Dave to his chest. The chill of the April winds outside subside within your apartment, crisp air gradually warming up. He complains that his brother has been outgrowing his clothes way too often. You point out that it's because he's been well-cared for, and he remarks that it's a miracle considering he has no idea what the fuck he's doing. He can't just bullshit raising a child like he can a five-page research paper. With a laugh, you tell him you think he's doing just fine. Just look at how much Dave loves him! He shrugs, Dave's chin perched on his shoulder.  
  
Don't drool on me, meatball, he murmurs in a half-hearted warning. Dave doesn't respond, and Dirk cranes his neck to look at him. The nugget fell asleep, he tells you. That didn't take very long. What a sleepy noodle.  
  
He says that he'll leave now, too. Gotta put Dave to bed. You nod, and he walks over to give you a quick kiss before disappearing as well. Now alone in your apartment, you figure you'll start making food for your cousins' party. Jade said she'd make eggrolls, so you think you'll make coconut rice with mangoes or something.

* * *

The days roll by quickly, and soon enough the celebration for your cousins’ birthdays is in full swing. You and Jade take them to a karaoke place, where you promise to sing anything they want. You both later regret that decision. All in good fun, though. You and Jade stumble through the lines of Ice, Ice, Baby together, most of it incoherent mumbling, sending John and Jane into stitches. The Ghost Busters theme is of course obligatory for everyone. The traditional Earth ballad is a must as well. And who could forget Smashmouth’s Allstar? No one, that’s who. You are pretty sure watching everyone sing together is the equivalent of drinking tea brewed from couch lint since none of you are making any effort to sound decent at all. You’re glad the rooms are separated so none of the innocent people in this building have to be subjected to the screech fest.  
  
You are there for about two hours before you leave and head back to your place since it’s the closest, where you and Jade bust out all the sweet food you cooked. Jade’s eggrolls are top notch, as they always are, and Jane says that your dish is just the right blend of tangy and sweet.  
  
Gathered on the couch, everyone enjoys the food and conversation. You tease each other about your performances at the karaoke place, but John cannot be shaken since every note of his rendition of ‘How do I Live’ was heartfelt. You could tell when he was singing.  
  
As the party slowly draws down, you adjust your scarf which you’ve come to always wear around your family. Jade takes notice, but she knows you won’t let a word slip, but John also notices and he does not know better. He comments that you have yet to tell them about your secret lover. Really, when are you planning on sharing? It’s been a pretty long time, now.  
  
You shrug, wondering if the information you’ve been withholding would ruin the evening or not. You and Jade went to such lengths to make sure it would run smoothly, so you just sip at your soda and ask Jane if she’s come up with any new recipes. She raises an eyebrow at you and says that you are most definitely trying to change the subject. John nods, can’t you just tell us their name?  
  
Luckily, Jade butts in and tells them to quit pestering you about it. She knows nothing is leaving your whistler and their endeavors will undoubtedly end fruitlessly, don’t bother trying. They shrug and quiet about the matter, and you give your sister a thankful nod. She nods back and says that they might as well distribute presents now.  
  
Just as you suspect, your cousins adore the card you and Jade picked out, and John particularly likes the shoe wings, or shwings. You agree, they are the pinnacle of cool. Right up there with Heelys. He promises that he will wear them always.  
  
Eventually, Jane says that it’s getting rather late, perhaps they should conclude the party now. Jade agrees with a yawn and a stretch, standing to grab her jacket. You stand as well, and John helps you clean up some of the mess from the party. Your sister meanders off to the kitchen, packing away the food with Jane. Once everything is as it was before, and Jade shoves everyone a boxful of eggrolls since there are way too many, you exchange what you believe will be goodbyes for the night. Everyone has on their jackets, all smiles as they say that they’ve had loads of fun, when you hear that soft whoosh from behind you. Your skin turns to ice as you whirl around, all of your family looking up to see what made the little noise.  
  
Standing hunched in the middle of your apartment, Dirk clutches Dave to his chest. He looks up to you and you don’t think you’ve ever seen such desperate emotion on his face. His shades are held in his hand, you can see his amber eyes dart from you to your family standing in shock behind you. The white shirt he’s wearing contrasts jarringly with the shiny deep crimson stain on his stomach, a stain that only grows larger by the second. Your name struggles past his lips in a wet choke as his knees buckle, and you frantically move to help him, but Jade takes hold of your wrist. She doesn’t look like she has words for the situation, and the expression she gives you implores you to explain, but you’ve got no time for that. You yank your arm away harshly and rush to Dirk’s side, kneeling next to his bloody form.  
  
What happened? You beg, why aren’t you healing? He only pushes his baby brother into your arms, dropping his shades and using his free hands to better support himself and cover the wound on his stomach. You ask again, what on earth happened? And this time he murmurs an answer: Caliborn.  
  
Your chest tightens with cold as you set Dave on the couch, who immediately cries out for Dirk. You steady the injured blond, asking how he was found, but his eyes slip closed too soon for him to respond and his body slumps into your arms. Despairingly, you call to him, but he doesn’t wake up. You press a hand to the curve right below his jawline, relieved to be met with a weak pulse. Behind you, you hear Jade asking you what’s going on, and you turn to give them a pleading look. You promise to explain everything later, just please, help me help him.  
  
They look rather hesitant, but Jane nods and walks forward, the other two following soon after. They help you pick him up and transport him to your bed, John looking after a squirming, unhappy Dave. You remove his blood-soaked shirt and sop up the surrounding blood with a rag. There’s a puncture wound in his stomach that looks like it came from a knife, and you keep pressure on it, trying to stop the bleeding.  
  
Why isn’t it healing? You chew at your lip as you look to his face, pallid and pained. He can heal bullet wounds in minutes, a knife wound should be no different!  
  
Jane agrees to perform a few healing charms for him, and you are glad that she is the least reluctant out of everyone. In fact, she hardly seems unsure. As she removes the turquoise pendant from her necklace, you worriedly look over Dirk. His breathing is slight, almost like it hurts to take in too much air. Keeping a hand covering the puncture, you place a palm against his cheek, your thumb smoothing across his skin. He feels hot, more so than feverish, and you don’t know if that’s a good thing.  
  
Jane holds the pendant over the stab wound, slowly lowering the turquoise to circle around it as she whispers charms inaudibly. It takes her a little longer than usual, but eventually you begin to notice the bleeding lessen. He still seems to be in pain, and you give a shaky exhale as you brush his bangs away from his face. You hope he’ll be alright.  
  
Once Jane stops the bleeding, you do the only thing you can think to do, and fetch your suture kit. Your hands are unsteady when you hold the needle with the hemostat, preparing to give him stitches. You swallow thickly to calm yourself, but it doesn’t help. Jane eases the materials out of your hands and takes over, gesturing to Jade and John with her head in a silent suggestion to talk to them. You bite at the inside of your cheek as you look over Dirk again before standing and walking over to them.  
  
You suppose you owe them an explanation, and Jade raises an eyebrow and shoots back a ‘you think?’. John looks from you to the baby he’s holding and nods. He had given Dave Dirk’s shades to hold, and it seemed to calm him down at least a little bit. You rub at your elbows, looking down meekly as Jade crosses her arms.  
  
This kind of thing, starts Jade, isn’t something you keep secret. She frowns at you, obviously upset. You apologize, you didn’t know how to tell them, especially something like this.  
  
I’ll tell you how, says your sister. Open your mouth, and start talking. You flinch at her tone and squeeze your elbows tightly. With a hesitant inhale, you begin with the night back in December, just after a storm had blown through, and you were chasing him through the city streets. You explain how he saved your life from the nymph, and the debacle with the aswang. You tell them about Caliborn, how he’s looking to use Dave in his potion, and how Dirk is racing against time to make a weapon strong enough to kill him before he’s found. You strategically leave out the parts about how he feeds from you, but you think they’re smart enough to connect the dots without you spelling it out for them.  
  
As you guiltily trail off, finished with your explanations, Jade sighs. You don’t even know what kind of demon he is, she says unbelievably. What were they supposed to do if you just suddenly went missing because of him one day? At this, you grow defensive. He would never do something like that to you. She asks how you know and you say because you know _him_. You know him way better than she does.  
  
He’s a _demon_ , Jade retorts. Have you forgotten what they’ve done to us? You tell her of course you haven’t, but not every demon is inherently evil, you all just happened to be hit by the bad ones first. She points out that it could be an elaborate ruse, but you immediately shoot that idea down. If it was such, he could have killed you months ago.  
  
Jade looks like she's about to make another suggestion, but she’s cut off by Jane, who’s finished stitching up Dirk’s wound. She agrees, albeit a little timidly, not every demon is malicious. Your sister gives her a confused look, and Jane continues.  
  
She has also made friends with a demon. They really aren’t all terrible. Everyone looks to her in shock, though you are more surprised than anything. Jane says that her name is Roxy, and you ask if that would be Roxy Lalonde, to which she nods with raised brows. Do you know her too? You affirm that you do indeed, she’s quite a character, that one. Jane gives you a small smile and agrees.  
  
Jade pinches the bridge of her nose and asks if there are any other confessions that are in need of being had. John, ever the jokester, says that he’s been holding a demon this whole time. Your sister gives him a look, and he turns back to the baby. And then, she sighs in defeat, saying she wishes you both had told her sooner. She shouldn’t have had to find out like this. You and Jane hang your heads in shame.  
  
Then Jade does something you wouldn’t have expected. She draws the both of you into a hug. Says she’s willing to give your friends a chance if it means so much to you. You sigh in relief, a little bit of your mounting stress subsiding. You know she’s still upset with you, you’ve basically lied to her for five months, and you are ever so happy to know that she still loves you the same.  
  
When she pulls away, she gives you and Jane a pinch on the arm. For not telling her, she says. You are glad you got off with so little. Now that you’ve gotten telling them out of the way, you’ve got to take care of what comes next. That is sleeping arrangements, since Jade makes it clear that she isn’t leaving until she’s sure it’s safe, Jane would like to stay and monitor Dirk’s condition, and John just doesn’t want to put Dave down.  
  
Look Jade, he says, holding up the baby. How can anything bad come from this little dude? He’s so cute. Jade rolls her eyes.  
  
You manage to get them all places to stay, since your couch pulls out into a bed and you have an ample supply of blankets. You plan on keeping next to Dirk in your room, you don’t want to leave his side for longer than you have to. Once your family has settled in and you’ve provided them a change of clothes, you leave to your room, pulling up a chair from your desk and sitting next to the bed. Dirk lays there, unconscious, and your heart grips a little. Gently, you take hold of his hand, lacing your fingers together. You notice Jane has bandaged up the wound, a square patch of gauze held down by medical tape standing out against his skin. It’s a little cold in here, so you tug a blanket over his form and press a soft kiss to the back of his hand. You don’t sleep that night.

* * *

The light of morning slowly seeps through your window as the sun rises, and still Dirk hasn’t woken up. With a sigh, you trace patterns against the back of his hand with your thumb. His fingers remain limp as you brush over the bumps of his knuckles, taking notice that his temperature seems to have dropped to something a bit more normal for him.  
  
You hear your door creak open, and Jade quietly calls to you. As you turn to face her, she asks if you’ve slept at all. Her hair is a little tangled, and she works her fingers through her dark locks to brush them out. Without speaking, you turn back to Dirk with a shrug. She sighs and walks over to you, saying that you need to sleep. You promise her that you’ll get some sleep later, once you’re sure he’s okay. Jade frowns at you, concerned. Offers to watch over him for a bit while you get some rest. You look up at her, brows furrowed. She doesn’t look like she’ll take no for an answer, and you guess you’re eyes are burning a little from fatigue. Having someone stay by him to make sure he’s cared for makes you feel a little better, too. Jade, though? You still don’t think she’s very keen on demons.  
  
She promises to look after him like she would anyone else, and you know Jade is always one to keep her word. Hesitantly, you let go of Dirk’s hand and stand up, nodding to your elder sister. She nods back, and you leave the room as she takes a seat beside your bed.  
  
Out in the living room, you find John and Jane asleep on the pull-out bed, Dave dreaming on his tummy between them. A quick glance at the clock tells you that it’s fairly early as you walk towards the plush disc chair that Jade undoubtedly slept in due to the blankets on it. Before you reach it, however, something catches your eye.  
  
Dirk’s shades lay beside Dave’s head, reflecting the light from the rising sun. You change your course and move to pick them up, unfolding the arms and continuing on your way to the chair. As you settle into the chair, you hear the familiar ping of Hal.  
  
TT: Hey.  
TT: There is a 98.9% probability that you want to know what the actual ape-shitting fuck is going on.  
  
Yes, that you do. You nod, asking if he would be so kind as to inform you of what happened.  
  
TT: I’ll cut straight to the point, then.  
TT: Motherfucking snakes, bro.  
  
You think this might be the opposite of a point.  
  
TT: You know how Dirk has the whole city teeming with little avian spies?  
TT: Caliborn did the same, but with reptiles. We’re filing reports for plagiarism right this very moment.  
  
You frown at this news, worriedly chewing at your cheek. Hal continues.  
  
TT: So he’s got all these snake assholes on lookout, and lo and behold one spotted Dirk the night you and he went out to off that leyak.  
TT: It didn’t take much longer for him to find out where he lives.  
  
Your stomach turns cold at this. He was found because you asked him for help.  
  
TT: So he barged in last night with that goddamn knife and went to stab the piss out of Dirk, but Roxy fucked up his aim and he ended up hitting him somewhere non-critical.  
TT: He might live, but shit’s 50/50.  
TT: Hey, I know you’re upset, but there is absolutely no reason to squeeze me like that.  
  
You realize you are gripping tightly onto the shades, the bones in your hands pronounced. With a quiet apology, you loosen your grip and set them on your knees, which you’ve pulled up to hug. You thank Hal for telling you what happened, glad for his stolid disposition.  
  
TT: No problem.  
TT: By the way, you look like you’ve been personally introduced to the Macarena of death. As you are an imperfect carbon-based organism, you need sleep.  
  
Over on the pull-out bed, John shifts, but doesn’t wake up. You glance up at him before looking back to Hal and nodding in compliance. After setting him neatly on the table nearest to you beside your glasses, you curl up against the papasan chair, a blanket wrapped around you, and try to get some sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, things are happening.
> 
> Tell me what you think :^)


	49. Cardcaptors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I'm super sorry this chapter is a little late. I'm still pretty bummed about school starting, so I wrote this to cheer myself up a little. It's a crossover of a favorite anime of mine, Cardcaptor Sakura. It's super cute, I highly recommend it. Already seen it? Watch it again.

Your name is Dirk Strider and you are being abruptly awoken by the blaring of your alarm clock. With your jolt to consciousness and startled heartbeat, you reach out and fumble for the button to turn it off. It loudly plays a grating static, since every time you set it to some kind of radio station it eventually gravitates away from it, into the terrifying waves of radio abyss. Which is annoying static. You have a shitty alarm clock. It was six dollars, and you only bought it because Dave used to come in and wake you up with a spray-bottle of ice water.  
  
A tired groan escapes your lips as you push yourself up, turning to swing your legs over the side of the bed and rub at your blurry eyes. The time reads 5:31 in the morning, the room around you scarcely illuminated by the hardly-risen sun. Blue shadows curl like molasses as you begrudgingly get up and crack your neck, exiting your room and stifling a yawn.  
  
Ah yes, Monday rolls around again. The start of another school week. You grimace to yourself as you pour cereal into a bowl, the colorful bits clinking against the plastic dully. In the background, the sound of the shower turning on meets your ears. You guess Dave is already up. He does have a lot more things to attend to than you do. With a shrug, you pour some milk into the bowl and grab a spoon to eat.  
  
Soon enough, you've had your own shower and brushed your teeth. Once you grab your bag and shades, you hook your skateboard under your arm and call to your brother, telling him that you were leaving. He calls back something unintelligible, and you aren't sure if they were words or not, but the inflection of his voice didn't sound like he was stopping you, so you shrug and close the door, your lanyard jingling with the apartment key.  
  
You make your way to school on your board, the slight chill of September brushing past you in gentle gusts of morning wind. The leaves are beginning to turn all the brilliant shades of autumn imaginable, but for the most part they remain green.  
  
Your neighborhood is quaintly suburban, about a half-hour's drive to the city and a ten minute skate trip to school. You can see it come into view as you turn around a corner, and as you get closer you recognize the distinct outline of your best friend, Roxy. She has her phone held up, recording you as you skate towards her, and she shouts for you to do some sick tricks. Obliging, you jump, your board flipping beneath you before you stick the landing, continuing on your way towards her. She grins widely as she stops the recording and pockets her phone, greeting you cheerily. You offer her a good morning as you roll to a stop, picking up your board and tucking it beneath your arm. Above, the warning bell sounds in its perfect E flat, and together you shuffle off for class, trading homework. She has government before you and you have AP Lang before her, so you both share work for the classes you'll need. It's a pretty great system, and it helps ease up your workload tremendously. You are careful not to let anyone catch you copying.  
  
At lunch, you trade back and eat your meals in the hall adjacent to the cafeteria. The day passes without anything unusual occurring, and at the end of the day you make your way to the school library in the hopes that they've expanded upon the robotics section. The librarian sees you come in and smiles warmly, to which you respond with a nod. You are the only two there, since clubs haven't begun yet and everyone else is eager to get home for the day.  
  
You peruse the growing selection between the tall shelves of books, a finger tracing delicately along the spines as you look for one you haven't read when you come across a thick book called ‘The Scratch’. Quirking a brow, you slide it out of its place and look over the obnoxiously green cover. A picture of a majestic crane stares at you with vibrant crimson eyes, a stretch near the top reading 'The Scratch' again in decorative script. Scratch? Like? Scratch and sniff? What the fuck? Why is this in the robotics section?  
  
You move to ask the friendly librarian, but it seems she's left. You are now alone in the library. With furrowed brows, you continue to inspect the book, finding that it was held shut by a tiny lock. You move to touch it, wondering what it could possibly have to do with robotics. Before your cool fingers can even grace the metal, the lock springs open and the small flap falls back. Weird. Slowly, you lift the cover and peer within, finding not words but a rectangular hole neatly filled with... Cards? The backs are the same vivid green as the cover, shrouded in strange symbols. You've never seen anything like them before, and carefully you slip your hand in and remove the first card, closely inspecting it. There's a white circle at the top, freeform designs too abstract to decipher into some kind of meaning. With your lips pressed into a line, you turn the card over to look at the front, finding a strangely peaceful looking woman slanting elegantly across it. At the bottom, letters spell out 'The Wind', and you scan over it, nonplussed.  
  
Wind? You ask quietly to yourself. Almost as if on cue, beneath your feet one of the strange symbols from before stretches across the floor, an intricate criss-crossing of lines that remind you of sigils or magic circles. As soon as it appears, an overwhelming gale bursts through the library, and out of instinct you reach up to cover your face with your arms. It blusters around you as you squeeze your eyes shut, desperately wondering what the hell is going on in a very controlled hysteria. Your shirt flaps erratically, the air whistling past your ears. You dare to peak an eye open, your mouth falling open in alarm as you see the cards flying out of the book, scattering up to the ceiling and disappearing in little flashes of light. In sinking dismay, you watch as all the cards shoot away to god knows where, and then the wind dies down, leaving the library calm once more. The only one left is 'The Wind', pitifully, which you clutched tightly between your fingers.  
  
What the shit. You are about three seconds away from flinging this book out the window and absconding very quickly. But then, because of course there's more, there's always more, isn't there? A small circle of light forms within the book, and you watch in subdued horror as a little figure slowly eases out of it. It looks like... A seagull? You swear, if this gets any weirder you are going to shit a brick. The light fades quickly, and the bird lands on the book, peering up at you with very red eyes.  
  
"Hey," it says, "nice mess you've made. Really, it's fantastic. Good going. Now the cards are gone. That's perfect." You squint in disbelief.  
  
"What?" You ask blankly, brow still curled in confusion.  
  
"Don't 'what' me, you fucking dumbass," the seagull shoots back. "You've gone and made a giant goddamn problem and you are going to fix it whether you like it or not." The bird rustles its feathers authoritatively, obviously quite miffed about the situation. You don't know what's going on and you think you should have started sprinting when you had the chance.  
  
"What just happened?" You ask, hopelessly lost.  
  
"The cards. Are fucking. Gone." Repeats the seagull. "And it's now officially your job to get them all back."  
  
What? You never agreed to this.  
  
"Too bad," shrugs the bird. "Guess who's gonna be doing it anyway? That's right. You."  
  
How would you even accomplish such a task? By the looks of it, there were quite a few cards in there.  
  
"Which means more trouble for the surrounding area," It reasons. "The cards are bound to act up when they're not under control. Chop chop motherfucker. The sooner you start, the sooner you'll be done. Besides, you've got at least a modicum of magic in you, seeing as you could even open this book. You're probably the ripest candidate for this shit around."  
  
You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into. Hopefully you'll wake up tomorrow and it'll all have just been a weird creepy dream.  
  
In the end, you take both the book and the bird home with you, cradled in your arms as you skate down the sidewalk. Dave isn't there when you get home, he's probably out working, and you saunter to your room and place the strange bird on your desk before dumping your backpack on the floor.  
  
The seagull, who you've learned is named Hal, hops about on your desk before turning to you. Asks if you're going to bind yourself to the contract or nah. Hint: your answer can't be nah.  
  
Contract? What contract? You haven't heard a word about this.  
  
He says that it's so you can be the new owner of the sealing wand, and if you have any hope of catching them, you'll need some kind of authority. You ask if the contract says anything else, and he shrugs. Only that you have to swear to catch them all.  
  
With a curse, you walk over and ask for the shit so you can sign it or whatever. Before you can reach for a pen, the magic circle from before shoots out to glow on the floor. It seems to hold circles and crescent moons within its grid now that you can take a better gander, sprawling around you in glowing green and gold. You stand in the center, the light seeping upwards to illuminate you from a strange angle.  
  
Key of the seal, Hal begins. There is someone wishing for a contract with you.  
  
As he speaks, an orb of light floats out of the book’s lock and towards you, floating in front of your chest as you stare at it, confused.  
  
His name is Dirk, he continues. O key, grant him your power. Release!  
  
The key begins to change shape, growing into some type of orange staff, and at this point there is nothing that can faze you. You are only hoping that this is all some weird dream and you'll wake up and laugh at yourself.  
  
Hal tells you to take hold of it, and you hesitantly reach out, closing your fingers around the smooth shaft. Suddenly, the magic circle beneath your feet disappears and you're left standing awkwardly in your room holding a goddamn staff. On the end are a small pair of decorative wings and a strange red beak-shaped protrusion.  
  
This is the sealing wand, Hal informs you. You'll use it to capture cards and control their magic.  
  
Cool, you tell him, though your voice is more monotonous than usual. You aren't excited for this, not one bit.  
  
With a flick of your wrist, you start to spin the staff like the people in the color guard spin their flags. You ultimately fail at this and it drops to the floor with a clatter. Hal tells you to step up your game. You tell him to shut up as you retrieve it. It reverts back to its original minuscule key form.  
  
In the other room, you hear the front door open, followed by two sets of feet. Dave calls to you, he's home and John's here too. You call back a greeting to the both of them and place the key with the book. John shouts a cheery hello, and then you can hear their voices as they talk in the living room.  
  
"So," you begin, "how do I capture cards?"  
  
Hal tells you you'll learn on the job, and leaves it at that. You frown and shoe him off your desk so you can start your homework. He huffs and glides to your bed, making himself comfortable among your mess of blankets and pillows. Once you scoot the book to the side, you pull out your physics papers and scribble answers on them for a bit.  
  
Somewhere along the lines, Hal says you should write your name on the Wind card, so that it's truly yours. Truly yours? You ask. Hal says you are to be the new master, after all.  
  
So you have to not only capture every single one, but become a fucking card master? What is this? Pokemon spliced with Yu-Gi-Oh? This is definitely Pokemon spliced with Yu-Gi-Oh. Hal agrees offhandedly and tells you to get a move on. With a cross between a groan and a sigh, you slide the card over and scrawl your name on the bottom. Like that? You ask, holding it up for him to see. He nods, fluffing his feathers. You stick the card back within the book.  
  
By the time the sun sinks beneath the horizon, a bloated mass of light, you push away your homework and rub at your tired eyes. Earlier you had taken a break for dinner - Dave had ordered pizza and you ate with him and John. Out of the pure kindness of your heart, you sneak a piece back for Hal as well. The bird seemed pleased that you had thought of him and proceeded to nibble at the slice while you changed into a pair of gray sweatpants and went back to diligently completing schoolwork. Diligently meaning you browsed the Internet for a while between every question.  
  
Now it's around eleven at night and you're packing away your supplies. Hal has since finished his pizza and gotten bored, so he's snooping around your room in an effort to entertain himself. As he pulls drawers open and closed, finding mostly tools and spare spools of wire, he looks up and to the window. Flutters up to the panes and stares out intently. You ask him what's wrong.  
  
A Scratch card, he responds. He can feel one. Mildly concerned, you walk over to stare out the window as well, seeing the road below and the tree line slightly obscuring the convenience store just down the way. The street lamps are switched on, like spotlights that douse a stage, however you don't see anything unusual. Hal is adamant that something is out there, 100%, so you lean closer and block out the glare from your room. Still nothing. You are getting suspicious as to if Hal is messing with you or not, there's only some trees and some pavement and some grass and- oh. Oh. You see it now. Or, saw it. Damn, that thing was huge. What was that? A giant-ass bird? Are there any other birds you should know about? You think you have plenty already, side-eyeing Hal.  
  
Hal says that it's time to bring your cardcaptor A-game. You are having serious doubts about this. What are you even supposed to do? You don’t like not having a plan. Hal assures you you’ll do fine, and implores you to get your ass in gear and head out before it disappears. Biting your lip, you move to peak out of your room. Your older brother isn’t in the lounge, and your skateboard is beside the front door. Down the hall, you can see light spilling out from beneath the crack of Dave’s door. He’s awake, so you’ll have to be silent about this. You’re already pretty quiet, and silent footsteps are something you pride yourself in, so it shouldn’t be too much of a challenge. Padding soundlessly down the way, you retrieve your board before remembering that you have to get your stupid keys, as well as the sealing wand. With a peeved huff, you make another trip to your room to retrieve them. Hal perches himself on your shoulder as you collect what you’ll need, reminding you to bring along the Wind card. You slip it into your pocket.  
  
The front door will prove to be a bit of a problem, since the lock clicks loudly if you aren’t careful and it creaks if you open it too slowly. If Dave catches you sneaking out, especially at night, you are so going to get it. He’s understandably worried, you guess, since crime more or less centuplicates with the moon and you might get mugged or something. Who cares about that, though? You have a giant bird to catch. Making it past the entrance goes without any hiccups, thankfully, and soon enough you are exiting the foyer of your apartment building and skating down the street. Hal gives you directions, but changes them often since the card is moving around instead of staying at one set location. Take a right, no, yes, now left, wait, shit, straight.  
  
You never would have thought a bird half the size of a football field would be so elusive. Have other people seen this bird? Probably. No one would believe them, though. It’s most likely all fine.  
  
Hal asks if you can go any faster on your shitty board, to which you respond with adding a little more push than normal. The mid-September air brushes past your face in chilled gusts, the sound of wheels whirling down the sidewalk rough and familiar.

  
  
Hal urges you to hurry up, but you are already going full-speed on your board. Shit's hella dangerous, especially since you're wearing absolutely no protective gear. You don't actually wear it in the first place, though. Aside from fingerless gloves every so often. You might as well not have elbows or knees for how many times you've landed on them and banged them up. Falling under the category of the rather curt list of people who do not deserve elbows: Dirk Strider. You are unironically proud of this fact. Your elbows, by contrast, are not. They probably hate you. With good reason, you suppose.  
  
As you ruminate on all the choice words your elbows would have with you, Hal alerts you to look up. Against the sky swoops the bird, grand and oddly magnificent, stark white against the inky indigo. You push the skateboard to carry you faster, asking your seagull consort what exactly you should do next.  
  
"For one thing," he starts, "whipping out that handy sealing wand might be an adequate first step. You know, to seal some shit away."  
  
This bird is an insufferable smart-ass. You fish the tiny key from your pocket.  
  
Remember the incantation I told you? Asks Hal. Oh, goddammit, do you have to say it every fucking time? You would rather take a hit from the golden water gun than that, and the golden gun is a pretty undesirable fate. Hal tells you to shut up and take out the stupid wand. You do so with a slightly choppy rendition of the chant since you have to dig around your mind to remember it correctly.  
  
Key which hides the power of the gods, reveal your true form to me. By my power, I, Dirk Strider, command you. Release!  
  
Wand in hand, you skate after the Scratch card, inquiring as to what your next move should be. The seagull advises you use the Wind card to bind it. To do that, you'll have to get close, which is something you should work on, slow-poke. Again, a meager mundane skateboard nowhere near matches the power and speed of a giant bird.  
  
Use your brain, dumbass, chastises Hal unhelpfully. Problem solving is something you'll need to work on if you want to be successful at this. He might not always be there to spoon-feed you the answers.  
  
Exasperated, you snap that this is your first time doing this sort of bullshit. A little guidance can go a long way, especially for the apparently inevitable future situations. You would really appreciate a little slack here. Hal tells you tough nuts, and you grumble irritably. Taking the Wind card from your pocket, you glance down at it as you ponder what you could possibly do to capture it. Deciding that if Hal was going to be as useful as bell-bottom jeans, you might as well try experimenting on your own. With a flick of your wrist and a slightly aggressive wave of your staff, you command the card to become a binding chain.  
  
A visible burst of wind erupts from the card before you, the woman depicted on the face rushing outwards and heading straight for the bird. You watch with mounting hope as she wraps around the wings of the other card, but quickly lose face when she's broken by powerful flaps.  
  
Your magic isn't strong enough to carry her there yet, Hal states. Plus, Wind is a hella passive card. She's super gentle. You've got to get pretty damn close for that to work. Gritting your teeth, you instead use Wind to propel yourself down the sidewalk even faster, chilling blusters surrounding you from all directions. It aids in your endeavors to get closer, however your balance is beginning to suffer. Keep it up, you order yourself. Falling onto the pavement now would be like slamming face first into the sanding machine in your middle school wood shop class. Not fun. Not fun at all.  
  
Soon enough, you're right on the bird's tail, although it's still a ways up in the air. How are you ever going to reach it? As soon as that thought crosses your mind, you see it, and you have by far the most asinine idea you've had in at least three days. An empty tow-truck sits just down the street, which at the moment is a slight downwards incline. The back of the truck is down, the ramp unobscured and slim in a way that makes you uneasy, but it's your best bet.  You approach rapidly, and you have to make the decision lightning-fast. With a steady stealing exhale, you angle your board and ride straight up the rickety ramp. The next thing you know, you're airborne. Wind pushes encouragingly at your back, giving you the much needed extra boost to strain forward and latch onto a fistful of feathers. Your skateboard falls away from you, clattering to the pavement below in what you hope is one piece.  
  
You dangle precariously from the tail of the bird, your heart pounding in your ears. In your other hand, you grip the staff tightly but soon find that you'll need all your fingers to accomplish this new task. Fitting the staff between your teeth, you free your hand and reach forward, tugging yourself up the length of the bird. The feathers are surprisingly soft and you would feel bad about gripping on so tightly if you weren't going to fall to your death upon letting go. Remorselessly, you cling to every handful of feathers and drag yourself forward against the violent bluster. Soon enough, you have yourself at the bump where the wings come together with the back, and you think you've gotten close enough. Again, you ask the Wind to bind the card. This time, the woman springs forth with all the elegance of a sunrise and loops quickly around the bird. You hear it cry out as its wings are restricted, the call piercing your eardrums unpleasantly. The rings of Wind tighten, folding the feathers up and incapacitating it. Suddenly, you're falling.  
  
The bird hits the ground before you have time to give a shout of surprise, and it skids across the pavement in a flurry of writhing feathers. You take a sore tumble, flung from its back and onto the street in rolling scrapes that you are sure will leave your elbows very upset with you. No time for that, though. You stumble back to your feet and stand before the bound card, commanding with a voice that rings clear for it to return to its original form. With your wand, you bring the beak-shaped part down over the bird's head.  
  
A swimming flash of light consumes your sight momentarily, the form of a card taking shape as the bird falls to fluid ribbons, shooting back into a card. It sweeps into your hands purposefully, and you stare down at the image of the bird. 'Fly' is written in lovely script at the bottom, and you set it with the Wind card. A sigh of relief escapes your lips, and you run your hand through your hair. You were certain you were a goner for a good bit there.  
  
Hal swoops to your side, flying around you as he congratulates you. You don't feel like he's being genuine about it. He asks if you want to try and test out the new card, it'll be fun, he assures. You give a shrug and activate the Fly card, watching as the small wings on the end of your staff grow impressively. Surely not enough to hold you up, though. Magic, Hal reminds you. Oh man, how could you forget?  
  
Go ahead and hop on, the seagull suggests. Swinging a leg over the staff, you feel the wings flap before you take off into the night air. Multiple curses are flung before you steady yourself, looking down as you continue to rise. Lights beneath you shine brightly, like make-shift stars. In the distance, the cityscape stands tall and proud against the darkened sky, a pool of brightness blocking out the galaxy above. The air is colder up here, and goosebumps prick at your arms as your hair stands on end, but it's nothing you can't handle. Besides that, it's rather… peaceful. Hal appears by your side, asking what you think of it. You nod, it’s pretty fun. Really nice, actually, but you should probably get home before Dave notices you're missing at midnight.  
  
Once you locate your skateboard, you fly back home and land on your windowsill, quietly pushing the window open and slipping inside for the night. Exhausted, you tumble into bed and hope tomorrow will be a little less hectic.  
  
The following day, Roxy meets you at the entrance to the school again with a look on her face that spells trouble in all caps. When you ask her what's up, her smirk grows into a grin as she slips out her phone and scrolls through, pulling up a picture to show you. On the screen, you find yourself riding a goddamn winged staff beside a seagull.  
  
You don't know what that is. What is that? You want to know because you do not know. Roxy gives a little laugh and tells you to cut the crap, she totally saw you doing some hella fuckin weird wizard-type bullshit last night. Photo evidence. She taps the screen with a manicured nail.  
  
Looks like the gig is up, comes a familiar voice. Hal pops his head out of your backpack to stare at her over your shoulder. You ask how the actual hell he got in there. He disparages your question.  
  
At lunch, Roxy has you spill every detail. You show her the key and the cards and tell her she has to keep it a secret because you don't want people to know about this at all. Ever. She assures you that she is the bomb at keeping secrets. You believe her.  
  
She asks if you're going to make a signature pose to go along with your magical act.  
  
Why on earth would you do that? You ask.  
  
If you're going to be any kind of magical girl, you need a cool pose, she reasons. You don't think you need any kind of pose to be a magical girl. You are already an excellent magical girl. You fought a bird. It was sweet. Roxy huffs indignantly and pops a chicken nugget in her mouth. You successfully evade being made to have a signature pose. Score.  
  
In the months following your newfound responsibility, you manage to capture a few more cards. Water; which was a bitch on all accounts, Jump; which came in handy quite a lot, Shadow; you were surprised it was useful when capturing the Silence card. Rain and Wood nearly fucked up your school library, but you managed to get them back in order. The Illusion card was something you are pretty sure almost killed you, but you haven't died yet and you aren't really planning to. You have nine cards altogether, and you are damn proud. Hal has gotten you into the habit of taking the cards and key wand with you everywhere so that you can leap into action as soon as possible. You think you are getting better at this cardcaptor thing, but Hal would probably never tell you that sincerely. He'll just hitch rides in your backpack and steal your food.  
  
In home room, you chat with Roxy idly as you both wait for the teacher to get class started. Someone knocks on the door, and you glance up to see a student you don't know walk into class. The teacher welcomes him and calls for everyone's attention.  
  
We have a new student, class, she says happily. He's just transferred here. His name is Jake English, I expect you all to treat him nicely.  
  
A few greetings ring out from your more exuberant classmates. He smiles brightly and greets them back with an accent that catches a few people's attention very quickly. As the class calls further greetings and questions, his eyes scan the room and lock with yours. You blink and glance around. He is definitely looking at you, no doubt about it.  
  
The teacher tells him to take seat wherever he chooses, and though there's an open chair much nearer to him, he moves all the way to where you are and takes the seat behind you. The entire class period, you feel his eyes on the back of your head. Biting both your lips, you fight to ignore it, and promptly Ollie right the fuck out once class is over.  
  
At lunch, you are in the middle of trading back homework with Roxy when Jake boldly approaches you. You aren't sure how he found you, you don't even eat in the cafeteria, but you guess that just makes you stick out like a boner with legs. He's very polite when he asks for a moment of your time alone, he wants to talk to you about something.  
  
Roxy gives you a wink wonk and a thumbs up when you stand, and you respond with a fake kick to her leg. She laughs and shooes you off, so you follow the new kid out the double doors down the hall and into the biting chill of January. Once you're out of earshot from everyone, which, now that you think about it, is kind of worrying, he turns to you with a smile. Says that you should give him all the Scratch cards you have.  
  
You nearly choke on your spit. How does he know about them?  
  
He's a descendant of Doc Scratch, the creator of the cards. As such, he is the rightful owner. Please hand them over.  
  
You frown and hesitate before shaking your head. You signed a contract, they're yours. At least, the ones you have are. They've got your name on them in pen and everything. That shit ain't coming out.  
  
He says that his family has been alerted to the scattering of the cards, and that he's here to collect them into a deck once again. It would really help if you gave them to him.  
  
Again, you shake your head. You've already signed up for the job. Besides, you don't have them on you anyway.  
  
He tilts his head. Says they're in your left pocket. Shit. He's the real deal, you guess, dude can sense the cards and everything. You are starting to unearth that ability as you strengthen your magic, but it's still merely a faint zing in your mind when you feel one.  
  
You clear your throat and rub at the back of your neck, glancing away. No, they’re totally not in your pocket. How does he even know that? He obviously doesn’t, since he’s wrong on all accounts.  
  
Now you’re just stalling as you discreetly inch back to the school, for once in your life hoping to be safely within its walls. Jake takes a step after you, further imploring you to give the cards to him. It’ll relieve your burden, he can take care of it!  
  
Again, no. He frowns as if he didn’t expect this exchange to take such a turn. You give a perfunctory apology and turn to retreat back into the school. Roxy is where you last saw her, in the hall adjacent to the cafeteria sipping juice. You tell her what he wanted from you and she listens intently, her black lipstick coloring the straw of her juice box. You wonder if you made the right choice. Hal pops out of your bag again and assures you there’s nothing to worry about. Well, if the seagull says so, you guess it must be true. You finish your lunch with Roxy and continue on with your day.  
  
Later that night, Hal sends you out on another mission where you’ll need to go back to your school. You can hear the booming claps from your apartment, goddamn. Even Dave wanted to know what the hell was making that noise. You had shrugged in response and retreated back into your room, only to slip out of the window and shoot off to your school on the sealing wand. The wind whistles around you, blowing your hair back and softening the spikes you work into it every morning.  
  
The time it takes to reach your destination is significantly shorter than when you ride a skateboard, and you’re there in under five minutes. Hal flaps beside you as you land on the rooftop, telling you to try your hand at sensing the card in order to locate it. You can definitely feel something, however the problem is mainly pinpointing it exactly. That issue doesn’t remain a worry for much longer, as another deafening clap booms through the air causing you to recoil a bit in surprise. Jerking your head toward the sound, you use the Jump card to leap to the second-story rooftop. Upon landing, you are met with a tiger-like animal, with white fur that stands on end as if electrically charged. It growls at you, the sound like low, rolling thunder.  
  
You need to use something to bind it quickly, but what? You doubt Silence would work for anything other than preventing it from making noise, and Shadow would do jack shit. Rain would make things worse, and Jump and Fly are solely for transportation. Water would be the same as Rain, and Illusion wouldn’t do anything useful. You slip out the Wind card, your go-to option for sticky situations. Ironic, since it’s the same one that launched you ass-first into this situation in the first place.  
  
The woman from the card sweeps forward to wrap around the animal, but she quickly dissipates. You grit your teeth, Hal _did_ explain that you were only able to capture the Fly with Wind since it was a wind attributed card, but you have nothing attributed for this dilemma. You doubt Wood would work, but it’s worth a shot, you guess. With little expectation, you cast the Wood card, watching as a different woman of trees and leaves leaps into action, working to encircle the card. It barks, another burst of thunder cracking through your eardrums before angrily ripping through the vines and charging straight for you. Almost tripping over your feet as you stumble backwards, you employ the Jump again, rapidly bounding away to keep from being mauled. Nothing you have works. Fuck. Think, think. What can you do for this? You doubt Hal would tell you. At this point, you’re starting to wonder if he really just doesn’t want to tell you. You suspect that even he has no idea what to do. Well, that’s what you like to think. You don’t really know otherwise.  
  
As you evade the prowling animal, contemplating all your non-existent options, you hear a voice cry out in a language you don’t recognize. Whirling around to find the source of the sound, you come face to face with none other than the new kid from earlier. You are pretty sure his name was Jake? That doesn’t matter right now, he’s doing something.  
  
The seal he holds up is covered in slanting symbols. With the incantation he recites, a burst of sprawling electricity darts toward the beast, chaining it down effectively. It howls in fury, and while any other time you would shield your ears, you have a job to do. Bolting forward, you ready the staff and bring it down over the animal, commanding it to return to the form it originally came from. The beast distorts and shoots to ribbons, resuming its shape as the Thunder card. When you reach out to pick it up, however, it shoots away from your fingers. Bewildered, you turn to watch it fly straight into the dark hands of Jake.  
  
What the hell? You question. He glances to you before slipping the card into his pocket. Hal lands on your shoulder with an irritated huff. Says that Jake’s the one that bound the card, therefore it is his.  
  
You knew you signed up for some bullshit, but you didn’t sign up for this kind of fuck. Jake turns to you, once again suggesting that you hand over your cards. No, you are not going to.  
  
He says he can definitely do the job, maybe even better! At this, you grow offended. He’s insulting you now. Implying the job you are doing is bad. He shrugs, you _were_ pretty much floundering around without a clue in the world what to do.  
  
Oh man, you want to fight this kid. You were simply not properly equipped for the task. He asks how long you’ve been doing this business, and you respond with around four months. And the number of cards you’ve captured? He quirks a brow. You relay that you’ve collected nine so far.  
  
Only nine? In four months? You really want to fight this kid. That is a fact, and it is being taken to every single goddamn bank within a fifty-mile radius. All these transactions are being processed at an alarming pace and you couldn’t be less satisfied.  
  
He repeats that it would really be in your best interest to hand over the cards. Still, your answer isn’t about to change. You are a cardcaptor. Jake sighs and crosses his arms. Guess we’re rivals, then, he remarks.  
  
You guess so, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I keep this going or nah? Tell me if you like it .~.


	50. Ghost Hunt - Night Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have seen a lot of weeks.  
> And this sure was one.

Your name is Jake English and you are worriedly inspecting the hand-shaped bruises around your neck. The doctors at the hospital had said you were fine, but the marks are still rather concerning. Jade has administered cold towels to drape around your neck to make the contusions fade faster, but they feel all too much like cold hands. You push the thought away and tell yourself that you can breathe just fine, now.  
  
It's around noon time, and you and your family are gathered around a laptop with the data from the digital recorder plugged into the side. You had left it in the maternity ward the first night you spent there, and failed to actually listen to what you may have captured until now.  
  
Spanning across the screen are five hours’ worth of sound, and by the looks of the waves depicted, there had been a lot going on once you left. John hits play, and everyone sits back to listen through. Normally, you'd prepare for a few long hours of nothing but the static of the air and the echoes of your team in the background, but around twenty minutes in you are met with something different entirely.  
  
_Roxy?_  
  
The voice is faint, as if it had been called from across the hall, and you vaguely recognize it.  
  
_I'm here._  
  
That one is definitely the spirit in the maternity ward, you are certain. Everyone else is as well, and you lean in close to hear what's being said.  
  
_There are people here, have you seen them?_  
  
Now that the voice is clearer, you can make out that Dirk is the one speaking. He's one of your favorite ghosts.  
  
_They were here._  
  
You hear the sound of cluttering, like someone had picked up the recorder. The ghost in the maternity ward, whom you've learned is named Roxy, has likely taken it to show Dirk.  
  
_Yeah, that's one of their weird devices alright. That other lady had them, too._  
  
He must be alluding to Aradia and her investigations there. You doubt anyone other than she has been gutsy enough to brave the abandoned hospital alone. You admire her courage.  
  
_Do you think they'll be safe?_  
  
_I'll keep an eye on them._  
  
And then the recording plunges back into silence and static, occasional pops poking through the endless white noise. It spans for another hour and a half and in that time you nearly nod off, but you are awoken by the distant sounds of frightened screaming.  
  
Oh, it's us, remarks John. It's hard to pick everyone out among the screams, but it gets louder as you all pass by the maternity ward on your way out. The frantic shouts of curses and 'Run!' and 'Go!' mingle with one another in resonating shrieks. When you were experiencing the terror of coming face to face with the Makara patient, it was without a doubt horrific, but now that you are listening back, without video context, it's kind of funny. You aren't the only one to snort a little when you hear the echoing pitter-patter of everyone's feet scrambling to get away. The entrance door slams open so loudly, you can hear it all the way over here, and you worry if you all had caused any damages. You're certain they would tell you if such a thing happened, though.  
  
Not long after, you hear another door slam shut, followed by a distant bang and a guttural roar. It pulls everyone's giggles to a grinding, chilling halt, wondering what had caused the sounds. You have a few ideas, but you aren't sure you want to think too much about them. Shortly following, Dirk and Roxy's voice trickle through the speakers once more.  
  
_They left._  
  
_I heard._  
  
_I doubt they'll come back after that ordeal._  
  
John gives a short laugh at that, of course you were going to be back. A simple murderer wasn't about to shirk your professional efforts. Not many things can, truth be told. Now that everyone is ass-deep in the mystery of the hospital, you doubt even a fire could smoke your team out. Of course, you hope to never test that theory.  
  
Once you've listened through the recording, you stand with a stretch and move to put the now warm towel away when an odd gleam catches your eye. On the nightstand beside the disheveled bed you share with John, the locket from last night shimmers in the golden light of the lamp. Right, you need to look at that, you couldn't see it last night.  
  
Padding over, you carefully pick it up from the glossy surface of the wood, turning the tarnished metal over in your fingers. Brass peaks out boldly through the blackened shadows of age, and you rub away at the spots, pulling your finger back to find the excess stained on the pad of your thumb. Curiously, you click open the locket, moving to sit beneath the lamplight to see the black and white image clearer. It's of a young girl with thick dark braids that run fluidly down her shoulders and stylish glasses, her clothing most likely from the 20s. The lines are mildly blurry, but not enough to obscure the visage of the girl depicted. As you look closer, you start to see similarities between her and the nurse, and in turn, with Feferi. With furrowed brows, you inspect the picture. Feferi hadn't worked the late shift last night, so you couldn't interview her about the new information collected during the previous investigation.  
  
You call your family over to inspect the photo, and they each take turns holding the image close to their glasses in order to see. They agree, that's Fef's nose alright, and it further solidifies the theory that she is related to the nurse. Everything about it adds up, to their shared last names, to their similar appearance, to why the ghosts detest Feferi so much. Perhaps she'll be able to provide information that could advance your investigation of the unknown.  
  
You wonder what Nepeta meant when she described the nurse as misunderstood. Has she been read wrongly? Was she not an organ-stealing psychopath? That wouldn't make sense, though, taking into account how many spirits fear her for what she did to them. What if your team had also misunderstood Nepeta? You could possibly be facing a whole barrel of misunderstandings. Misinterpretations galore. However, you doubt there's much to get wrong here. Something else runs beneath the surface from what you can gather, something pivotal, but what? Nepeta hadn't specified, so you wonder if she truly knows the whole story, and you suspect you should take her words with a grain of salt. Even so, it's what you have been given to work with and is one of your only leads. You know your family will bite the bait if it means uncovering more secrets. Besides, Nepeta hadn't seemed like someone deceitful when you first contacted her, so maybe she's right.  
  
You have to take into account the span of time she was in the hospital, though, and how it could affect her opinion. When was she a patient again? 1922? And you doubt every single murder could have taken place in the span of the few months she was in the ICU with TB. You also don't know when the murders stopped, and therefore shouldn't take too much from her statement. A way you could find out, though, would be Dirk undoubtedly. He said he was one of the last to die, so asking when his heart was stolen would give you a good idea of the span of time this atrocity had taken place.  
  
When you return to the hospital that evening, you all immediately find Feferi to ask her about the necklace. She's organizing files of recent patients' CAT scans when John leads everyone to the front desk, the brass locket clutched in his palm. He says that they've found something she might want to see, and they'd like to ask her a few questions. The nurse gives him a curiously inquisitive look before asking her coworker to cover her for a bit. She walks out from behind the semi-circle shaped desk and guides everyone to a secluded section of the waiting room. There, John shows her the tarnished locket, which she examines with a frown.  
  
It looks like her grandmother when she was much younger, she informs you. Where did you find this?  
  
You tell her how it was looped on the pipes of a sink in the psyche ward, and John tells her about the nurse and her name, Condie Peixes. Her brows furrow and she looks back to the locket, saying that she doesn't know the first name, but perhaps her grandmother does. She assures you all that she'll try to get into contact with her as soon as she can, handing the locket back to you. In the meantime, are you guys ready for night four?  
  
John nods with a wide grin and Jade readies her camera, the laser grid scope still attached to her equipment from the first night. Like all the evenings before, Feferi guides everyone to the door and opens it, letting you pass over from the bright fluorescent lighting into the dark and murky halls. As always, she wishes you all luck before letting the door fall closed and engulfing your senses in black.  
  
Night four, everyone, John relays to the camera in a voice a little too jolly for the current environment. You suspect that the information gathered yesterday has really given him an encouragement boost as you switch your camera to full-spectrum. Jane takes the lead, walking in confident strides down the familiar corridors. The necklace in your pocket suddenly feels heavy, and you’re not sure if it’s your imagination getting the better of you. Should you return it? What if you need it again? But keeping it might anger the nurse. You’re pretty sure she’s perpetually upset, though.  
  
As your thoughts battle back and forth, John suggests you split up again. There’s a lot we have to cover tonight, he says. No one says otherwise, and Jane volunteers to try and talk with the maternity ward ghost, Roxy. Jade says that she’ll try to find Nepeta again, and you decide that you’ll look for Dirk again. John will look for an office, hopefully there are still records there and maybe the files weren’t thrown away, just hidden. You doubt it, it would be so much easier to just toss them in the garbage to get rid of them, but you don’t say so. He might come across something different yet equally important.  
  
Everyone sets up a time and place to regroup, making sure your phones still work in case one of you needs help. With a deep breath of icy air, you wave goodbye to your family and turn to walk back to the GSU. The fear you have of this place had only just began to ebb away before the nurse attempted to strangle you. Now, it’s back in full force, all curling shadows and whispering touches.  
  
Your footsteps echo off the walls and back to you, bouncing emptily around your ears. The camera in your hands absorbs the warmth in your palm, but shifting your fingers reintroduces you to the jarring cold. Darkness wraps around you like slowly rising water, and since you constantly stare through the screen of your video camera, your eyes never fully adjust. Moving slowly, you maneuver to keep from tripping over anything your eyes don’t see. The tip of your shoe hits something that clinks against the broken tiles of the floor, a fancy ballpoint pen that’s seen better days on the floor before you. You nudge it to the side and continue on at your dreadfully sluggish pace.  
  
Eventually, you make your way to the general surgery unit, all the while the corridors feeling too narrow for comfort yet too wide to possibly be occupied by only yourself. The doors lining the halls are either loosely shut or wide open, but you keep an eye out for the one that hangs precariously from its hinges, a touch away from falling completely. It’s deeper within, and though this is the third time you’ve been to what you presume was his room, every trip there seems to stretch longer and longer. You find it as it was before, an odd sense of familiarity manifesting in your chest. Even though Dirk is a ghost himself, you can’t help but feel a little safer knowing he’s here. He looks out for you.  
  
When you step inside, the temperature drops further, goosebumps riddling your skin as you call out for Dirk. You know someone is in here, you can feel it in the way the atmosphere changed. And as you expected, his voice answers back.  
  
_You again?_  
  
Yes, you’ve returned once more. Your team still has things to figure out. He sighs, and though you’ve never actually seen much of his figure, you can imagine that he would be crossing his arms right about now.  
  
_And I’m supposed to help with that somehow?_  
  
You nod, it shouldn’t take too long. If he could tell you when he died, you would appreciate it greatly. Again, he sighs, a pause hanging in the air as you assume he thinks back to what surely must have been a long time ago.  
  
_November, I think. 1959._  
  
1959 was the year the hospital closed this side of the building down, you recall. Was Dirk truly the last person to be killed? It’s not too much of a far-fetched theory in your opinion. You ask why he came to the hospital in the first place. He says that he’d broken his leg pretty badly, the middles of his tibia and fibula more or less rendered to tiny fractals, and they’d had to give him surgery to even begin fixing it. From there, they said he’d be out in a few days, but then the nurse came. At first he hadn’t questioned her, since she worked here and probably knew what she was doing better than he did. She had flipped through his files for a bit before leaving without a word, and he thought nothing of it.  
  
She came back the day he was set to leave, saying that he’d be signing out today. He had already known this, and had expected someone to check him out. What confused him, though, was the cart of ominous tools she had rolled in. And then, well, he’s sure you can piece together the rest. She then signed him out, and no one was the wiser.  
  
You shiver a bit, your body so tense it’s beginning to ache. With a shaky exhale, you tell yourself to loosen up a bit lest you want to wind up in pain the remainder of the investigation. You ask him if he can make himself visible to you in a full-body apparition like on the first night. He says he might be able to if he takes the power from a couple of your gadgets. You offer up your spirit box and EMF reader, which are promptly drained of power if the way the lights flicker and dwindle before burning out are anything to go by.  
  
_Over here._  
  
Dirk’s voice calls to you, and you turn to find a figure sitting atop one of the counters that line the room, legs hanging off the side.

[](http://tinypic.com?ref=29z6e0w)   


A feeling jumps in your chest, a mixture of fear and excitement. Truth be told, you had really been wanting to actually talk face to face with him. You’ve never had the chance to do so with any spirit, benevolent or otherwise.  
  
Through the screen on your camera, you look him over, a body that looks a little less solid than it should for reasons you can’t pinpoint exactly. Blond hair and strong facial features more shadowed than you’d expect at first. He’s looking right at you, with unblinking eyes that tell stories of fatigue. You take a cautious step forward, as if he’ll dissolve into smoke if you make too much noise. He remains, watching you as you stare. When you open your mouth to speak, only air brushes past your lips, so you clear your throat and swallow.  
  
What’s it like? To be dead?  
  
He looks down, face impassive as you slowly approach him.  
  
_It’s like being constantly exhausted,_ he informs you. Being tired all the time, and not being able to sleep. It’s also perpetually cold, but he’s gotten used to that in the fifty years he’s been a ghost. You wonder if that’s a good thing or not. He shrugs, says it’s not like it matters much anyway. You guess that’s true, what could really be worse than being eternally stuck between two planes, belonging to neither? It sounds terribly lonely, in your opinion.  
  
It’s not that bad, he mumbles in a voice that you think might be more for himself than you. He knows the people here, kind of. He’s not really lonely. You find his tone a little less convincing than his words. When you’re done with the investigation, you promise to help him pass on.  
  
_Good luck,_ he gives a huff of empty laughter, like he doesn’t think you’ll be able to. He’s without hope, blatantly so. He said he remembers what it feels like, but you’re starting to doubt that. You slide up onto the counter beside him, a heavy lull weighing on the conversation.  
  
A sigh escapes him again and you watch as he turns to look at you, at the camcorder in your hands. He asks if you could turn it off, it’s weird being filmed like this. You look down at the device and oblige, switching it off as to not make him uncomfortable. You can always relay what happens in words later, and you place the video recorder on the counter beside you. It might be a foolish decision, but you have a feeling you can trust Dirk. He’s done nothing but help you thus far, so you think that you’ll be alright even though the darkness is impermeable. Dirk thanks you, his voice an anchor in the impossibly black chill. Even in the daytime, you don’t think it would be any brighter in here. He speaks again, and it’s odd how shadows act as amplifiers.  
  
_What’s all the information you’re gathering helping you figure out?_  
  
You’re trying to figure out about the nurse, and subsequently, the Makara patient. You think there might be more to them than just the disturbing bloodlust the specters of the hospital have painted them in. You wonder if even that description is accurate, what with the heavy bias encircling nearly every spirit here. Dirk hmphs, says he thinks they have a perfectly good reason to be biased. He has a point, you suppose, however that doesn’t change the fact that it could possibly be supplying your team with twisted info. He hums in reply, unsurprisingly bitter about being killed and in no mood to have a change of heart. Well. That may have been a poor choice of words on your part. He offers another small huff of laughter, one that sounds a little more genuine than before, and assures you it’s fine. If you had been looking at a thermometer, you would have noticed the temperature become warmer by a few degrees.  
  
Dirk asks what makes you think there’s something more about the nurse, and you tell him of what Nepeta said about her. Little by little, your eyes begin to pick out shapes from the inky blackness.  
  
_Misunderstood, huh?_ Comes his reply. It doesn’t sound like he wants to forgive her just yet, even after all this time. You’d never ask him to, though. Being murdered isn’t really something one can move on from. Wow, again with bad word choice. You hear him chuckle as you rub at your eyes beneath your glasses, mildly embarrassed. This is not how you pictured your first face-to-face conversation with a ghost would go. Well, you’ve never actually thought much about it, but if you had it would definitely not have gone like this. You wouldn’t want any conversation to go like this, honestly. Again, he assures you it’s alright, and asks what else you’ve found.  
  
You think for a moment before saying you’ve found the nurse’s locket, she had tried to choke you to death when you picked it up. He suggests that you should maybe give it back. Either that, or burn it. He’s heard ghosts sometimes unintentionally latch part of their spirit onto an object that meant a lot to them when they were alive, so it might be what’s keeping her here. It’s only speculation, of course, he doesn’t know for sure, but he’d prefer not to spend the rest of his afterlife constantly toeing around her. You look down at your pocket where you know the necklace sits in a pile of brass chain, and you think that maybe you should find a different way to help her pass on than destroying the last thing she holds dear. For all you know, that could only further upset her. You’d prefer not to test the theory out.  
  
Suit yourself, he shrugs nonchalantly, and you file the information away in case you ever need to use it. You hear Dirk sigh, accompanied by the sound of feet landing on the floor. He tells you that if he’s here, mixed with the fact that you have the locket, then the nurse is more than likely to show up. You ask him if he’s sure about that, you would really like to talk with him more, but no one responds. Now, only the darkness sits with you.  
  
Mildly disheartened, you pick your camcorder back up and switch it on, finding solace in being able to see at least somewhat clearly once more. His reasoning for disappearing again makes sense, and you’re pretty sure you don’t have any more questions to ask him, but you hadn’t wanted him to leave so soon.  
  
Once again, you set out through the corridors of the hospital, the peeling paint curling down the walls like limp fingers. There’s still a bit of time before you have to meet up with your family again, and you resign yourself to aimlessly wandering through the grimy halls, trying to contact any other spirits you’ve yet to cross paths with. It’s surprisingly difficult work now that you’ve sacrificed your EMF reader in order to help Dirk manifest into a tangible being. You can’t pinpoint the presence of ghosts since the entire hospital is positively freezing, heavy with lives unlived.  
  
As you quietly shuffle out of the GSU, your shoe hits another pen. You don’t think much of it and move to brush it aside, but you stop. If you’re not mistaken, it’s the same fancy ballpoint pen from earlier. Brows furrowed, you inspect it closer. Maybe the hospital just ordered a bunch of pens at one point, it wouldn’t be too strange to think there would be pens of the same make here. You shake your head at yourself and straighten, feeling foolish for thinking there might be something else going on. Surely there couldn’t be. It’s not unusual for a hospital to have pens. Silly you.  
  
Continuing on, you don’t manage to capture any more paranormal activity that can be documented via video and head back to the meeting point to wait for your family. They arrive not long after you, and everyone takes turns relaying what happened to them.  
  
John didn’t find anything of importance to the investigation of the nurse, but he’s pretty sure he found that hot-tempered spirit that Jane met in the oncology unit.  He plays back a few recordings that are hard to make out, but a few words shine through.  
  
_…your microscopic soggy brain…_  
  
_…blazing idiocy…_  
  
_…shit-sandals and fuck-flops…_  
  
Everyone snickers at the strangely unorthodox expletives, the ones you can understand. Jane moves on to talk about what happened in the maternity ward. Roxy seemed much more willing to talk with her when she was alone. Jane learned that her baby girl was taken from her and she was given a lethal dose of chloroform by the nurse. Her doctor at the time, Dolly, had tried her damnedest to intervene and save her, but she was killed as well. Roxy doesn’t know what was done with her body or her little girl.  
  
Then Jade says that she managed to find Nepeta again, who told her that if any of you want to hear every side of the story, then you should try talking to nurse Peixes herself. The thought alone sends a shiver of crawling spiders down your spine, but you know that she has a point, and you just might have to do that at some point.  
  
You speak last, telling them about your conversation with Dirk. The killings likely spanned the whole time this half of the hospital was in operation, and Nepeta was alive only during the very beginning. However, she may have seen everything happen once she became a ghost. You will choose to trust her word on the nurse and hope that there was something else going on beneath it all. It’s hard to believe anyone could kill so many people out of pure enjoyment. You really don’t want to believe that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 50th chapter, guys! Hope it was worth the wait!
> 
> I encourage you to use the insults 'shit-sandals' and 'fuck-flops' because they are my favorite.


	51. Royal Affairs Part 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who offered title ideas: Thank you so much ily  
> The winner is Royal Affairs from probably_an_egg! Now I have to go back and rename the chapters :0
> 
> Sorry again for getting this out a day late, and I hope you like it!

Late winter weather bleeds through the air in constant chills and hardened earth, squeezing at your heart if you ever so much as set foot beyond the palace walls. Within, the drafts are not much better, however the fires that blaze in the hearths glow with tender warmth and fend the gelid temperatures away so long as they burn bright. The trees outside look as if they’ve been turned topside, naked branches resembling shriveled roots for how they stretch and grasp for springtime.  
  
Snowfall dusts the ground like powder on teacakes and the nights glimmer with stars that blink, candles in the breeze. The cold paints your cheeks and nose pink and turns the base of your nails a subtle blue whenever you spend too much time outside, shivers racking down your spine with every gust of frosty wind. You’ve never particularly liked winter much, what with it being freezing half the time. As a servant, you don’t get much in terms of winter clothing. You understand why, if they were to provide everyone with warmer wear the seamstresses would be hard at work for who knows how long. They’d have no time for other, more important projects to complete. You can bear the brunt of it, you always have. Puffing hot air into your hands sends translucent swirling clouds into the air, and usually tides you over enough.  
  
At the moment, however, you are not particularly cold at all. In fact, the fire before you is rather cozy, crackling flames sending floating sparks into the air as you add wood to it. There’s a bucket beside you filled halfway with soft gray ashes, cinders speckled with black and white. Heat from the fire washes over you with inviting tendrils, imploring you to stay and escape the harsh winter air that penetrates the palace, but you know you have other things to attend to.  
  
The only good thing about the season is that you can boil water using the fireplace in the prince’s room and serve him tea without needing to scurry back and forth between his chambers and the kitchen. Prince Jacob sits at his desk, looking over paperwork and documents by candlelight. Spectacles are perched on the bridge of his nose, the glass catching the light of the flame if he tilts his head just right. You aren’t watching for that, of course. Nope. Not you. Oh look, the water is boiling.  
  
Using a cloth to protect your hand, you carefully remove the kettle from the fire as the water gurgles with bubbles. Steam rises and sweeps over your face as you stand, setting the hot kettle on another towel to prevent it from damaging the table. The prince looks up upon hearing you shift places, watching absently as you prepare his evening tea. You’ve been his servant long enough now, you know how he likes it: strong, with a single scoop of sugar.  
  
Steeping the tea is hardly easy to mess up, but you keep an eye on it nonetheless. In turn, you don’t notice Prince Jacob’s eyes on you, your lithe fingers drumming silently against the smooth tabletop. As you continue preparing the tea, the rich blend dark in the dim light of dusk, you reach over without looking to grab the small glass of sugar. The side of your hand brushes against the still scalding hot kettle and you jolt it back, the shadow of a flinch ghosting across your features. Mostly unconcerned, you examine the burn on your hand, tracing over it with a cool finger to relieve the heat. It’s nothing serious, and your hand is fine save for a coin-sized red mark which should be gone in no time. Again, you reach out to take the sugar and pour a small spoonful into the tea, stirring it until you no longer feel it at the bottom of the cup.  
  
Carefully, you carry it to the prince, setting it beside him. Before you can move to clean up the table, he gently takes your left hand, the one you burned, and turns it palm-up to inspect the damage done. So he noticed. You are a little embarrassed by your mistake, but you don’t let it show. He murmurs something about you always getting yourself hurt somehow, and your first reaction is to look away and apologize for causing him trouble. He shakes his head fondly and smiles up at you, telling you to be more careful. You have nice hands, it would be a shame to ruin them.  
  
Heat springs to your face at his remark and you pray that it’s dark enough not to be noticeable. You quietly mumble out a thank you as he lets your hand go, finding it not in need of attention. He knows you wouldn’t tend to it even if it was. You move back to the table and place the tea box, sugar, and kettle on a golden tray in preparation for returning them to the kitchen, asking if he has anything he needs you to take care of before you leave. He thinks for a second, then gestures to a tall set of drawers. He’s running low on ink, and in the third drawer down should be a few extras. With a nod, you walk over to fetch a bottle, sliding open the drawer and plucking one from the contents. A handwritten label is plastered to the side, the word verde slanting in elegant curls and twists. There are others within, with different labels reading sienna and auburn and bordeaux. Their tops have been sealed with wax, small strings sticking out of it to aid in breaking the wax and removing the stoppers.  
  
You look to the Prince and ask what color he desires, and he says that black should do. In the scarce lighting you shuffle through the little bottles, holding them close to your straining eyes in order to read the labels. It doesn’t take long for you to find the word noir and you close the ink drawer, walking over to hand it to Prince Jacob. He takes it with a thank you before turning back to the documents on the desk in front of him. Without another word, you turn and walk back, picking up the tray and making your way out of his room.  
  
The hallways are a good deal chillier than the warmth of the fireplace, and the darkness of the halls this late into the evening is hardly welcoming. The light of the moon streams through the tall arched windows, sloping across the hallways and up the walls. Outside, along the walkways are lamp posts lit with flickering flames. Some of them have already blown out, but others shine through the dark, illuminating the air around them. In the light of the lamps, you can see tiny wisps of snow falling peacefully through the night. Though it’s numbingly cold, the sight is calming and you spare a moment to simply stare, caught up in how the flakes catch light and spin towards the ground.

  
  
Behind you, you hear the door to the Prince’s chambers open, pulling you out of your reverie. Turning to look, you find Prince Jacob looking at you from across the hall, his eyebrows furrowed. You wonder if you’ve done something wrong, if you’ve upset him somehow.  
  
Dirk, he says, can you read?  
  
You nod, turning to fully face him. He hums in response, he hadn’t known until you found the black ink in the sea of bottles that probably all looked black in this lighting. Where did you learn? He walks to you, leaving his grand doors to fall shut.  
  
You tell him that your mother taught you. He had said himself that the emphasis on education lives on in those of Dersite blood even today, and it is no lie. When you were younger, you’d cling to her skirt as she went about cleaning the palace and she’d read the inscriptions beneath all the paintings to you and draw letters in the dirt with sticks. By the time she died, she had taught you everything she knew. He nods as he listens to you, and you notice his spectacles still grace his face and reflect the budding moon. The curves of his visage are spread with the shallow light as well, his cheekbones emphasized by shadows. In the back of your mind, you find that you rather like the way he looks in low light, beneath the moon and stars.  
  
The prince says that it’s quite remarkable that you learned, many servants are illiterate. He smiles at you again, and within your chest the heart you’ve come to know as calm begins to patter. He thinks something about you is remarkable. You bite the insides of your cheeks to keep the corners of your lips from turning upwards and thank him. Ask if you can help him with anything else.  
  
He shakes his head. Says that that will be all for tonight, you are free to go. You nod and bow as he walks back to his room, only straightening when you hear it close again. With that, you turn and carry the tray back to the kitchen, only the occasional hallway lamp to light your way.  
  
The next morning, you awaken to the same nipping chill that settles throughout the day. Outside, a thick blanket of snow hugs the ground in sparkling white, blue shadowed footprints making paths through it already. Branches sag beneath the weight, bowing before the snow as if to make it slide off.  
  
You bring the prince a warm breakfast and prepare his morning tea, which you are sure he appreciates by how he holds the teacup close to breathe in the scent, the steam curling over his face as the hint of a smile peaks past his lips. Only for a moment do you allow yourself to look, to take in how the soft morning light gently touches the tips of his dark hair, the way his eyelashes rest curled against his cheeks. For a brief second you wish he’d open his eyes, but then he might notice you, and you suppose you can do without the dazzling summer greens for now.  
  
Once you’ve taken everything back to the kitchen, you rejoin the prince and accompany him to the library. It looks as if the servants have recently dusted, as the wooden bookshelves reflect the winter sunlight in browns and golds. You stand to the side as Prince Jacob peruses the shelves that tower above him, your hands folded in front of you. He stacks a few tomes in the crook of his arm before making his way to a table, taking a seat and flipping through the first one. Other people come and go, nobles and servants alike as you stand silently, shifting your weight from foot to foot.  
  
An hour or so passes like this, the prince occasionally switching out books and replacing them on shelves for new ones. You can tell he’s becoming tired by the way he rubs at his eyes, and you can only guess he’s studying politics in order to one day be a better ruler. A daunting task, you think. Such responsibility is something you would never be able to handle.  
  
Somewhere in the midst of all the nothing you are doing, someone approaches your side. Roxy smiles brightly up at you, a book clutched in her arms. The spine reads _A Guide to Plant Life_ from what you can see. A strange choice in reading material, you think.  
  
Nearly soundlessly, she whispers a hello to you, and most of what you understand comes from watching her lips. You nod back a greeting and ask why she’s reading that. She says she wasn’t, it was handed to her by the head knight and she was told to bring it back here for him. You shrug in response. He’s got weird interests, you guess. In near silence, you catch up with her about all that’s going on with the others. She wants to have a snowball fight with everyone, but you doubt you’ll be able to find spare time.  
  
She sighs sadly and complains that you’re never around anymore. She misses her bud. Guilt stabs at your heart as you apologize, but she assures you it’s no big deal. Then she glances around, saying that she has to get back to work and wishes you a goodbye before padding off to return the book to the appropriate shelf. You watch as the swish of her gray skirt disappears behind the labyrinth of shelves, leaving you to stand alone.  
  
Another hour passes before the prince closes his books and slips them back onto the shelves, the heels of his palms rubbing the fatigue away from his eyes. You follow him out of the library, walking quietly behind him as he turns hallways and descends the staircase, a hand ghosting over the banister. He makes his way to the grand entrance of the palace, pushing open the doors and stepping out into the frigid air. The gusts carry tiny flurries that catch in your hair, and the breeze temporarily knocks the wind from your lungs.  
  
The marble stairs are in the process of being cleared of snow, servants knocking away hazardous ice with chattering teeth and bright red noses. More still are clearing the road before the castle, and in the distance you can see a horse-drawn carriage coming up the way. Once the carriage pulls up in front of the palace stairs, the door is opened and Princess Jadeyn is helped out. A heavy cloak is draped around her shoulders, her glossy dark hair tucked within, though it spills out in some places. She looks up at the prince and waves, a smile that could make flowers bloom on her face. The prince waves back as she begins to make her way up the stairs, her personal servant at her side. Upon reaching the top, she greets her brother cheerfully. She has just gotten back from the chapel, where she gives charity to the poor. Each morning she goes, the prince always welcomes her back and invites her to join him for afternoon tea. She accepts, eager to escape the cold and shed her more encumbering winter clothes in exchange for hot tea beside a fireplace.  
  
The day sweeps on in a continuous dusting of snowflakes, most which melt upon meeting the ground. At dinner, you see Lady Latula conversing with the prince and princess, and the head knight seated beside the king as he often is. They are a strange pair of companions, you think, for how the king is boisterous and jovial while the head knight is comparatively serious and brooding. You suppose they are good friends, though, as they are normally together.  
  
By the time dinner is over, the king excuses himself to bed early on account of feeling a bit under the weather. Prince Jacob stops him at the door leading out of the dining hall. Asks him what’s wrong. The king assures him he’s fine, just a headache and a bit of dizziness. Must be the cold weather that’s getting to me, he smiles.  
  
They wish each other a good night’s rest and you accompany the prince back to his room, where he goes over new letters and documents delivered earlier that evening. As a prince, he and his sister are responsible for a small area of the country, a city in the east with more problems than stones on the road. You suppose it will be immeasurably valuable practice in ruling the country one day, and he has your respect for how diligently he personally addresses each and every letter.  
  
It’s not until late into the evening that he pushes the papers and glass pen away with a yawn, his fingers splotched here and there with dark ink. He settles into bed for the night, and after you pick up a candle to light your way back to your room, he asks how your hand is doing.  
  
You look down at the little burn on your left hand and assure him that it’s healing. He never ceases to surprise you by thinking of your well-being. And when he’s distracted by the troubles of his duties, too. You can’t help but feel a little more special than you really are. Maybe it’s the warm feeling he leaves in your chest.  
  
The following morning, Prince Jacob checks on the king to see if he feels any better. He’s still unwell, but not enough to prevent him from being out and about. He assures the prince he’s fine with a pat on the shoulder and a fatherly grin.  
  
Though as the winter drags on, he gets no better. He’s stubborn, however, and it doesn’t stop him from devotedly tending to his country and assuring the needs of the inhabitants are met. His cheeks lose their fullness as time proceeds, his figure dwindling with his appetite. You can tell the prince is highly worried, but every time he expresses concern for his father he is only waved off. I’m fine, fine, the king would say as he rubs at his ongoing headache. Even you can see that he’s obviously not.  
  
The king’s stubbornness lasts into the breath of spring, as the snow begins to melt and the buds on the trees with branches that spread like lightning begin to flower. The royal healers have been supervising him closely, and since then his condition has not worsened. It hasn’t improved either, but at this point you’re sure everyone is only counting their blessings that he’s held out for so long. And eventually, when the air finally begins to warm up and the birds return to color the world in song, he begins to recover. It’s as if the entire palace breathes a sigh of relief when he can once again walk down the halls without staggering every few steps, and you are glad that the shadowed quirk of worry leaves the prince’s brow.  
  
Outside, leaves sprout little by little, timid greens peaking past the remnants of winter. The cold still clings, the dying grasp of the season loosening with each passing day. The soft blues of winter inevitably give way to the gentle pastel pinks of spring, early flowers poking through the ground in splashes of cheerful color.  
  
In a small celebration for the king’s recovery and a gesture of thanks to the royal healers, a simple party is held in the gardens of the palace. Nothing especially grand, just an afternoon gathering with those close to the royal family. Setup is simple, a few tables carried out and covered with a crisp tablecloth. On either side of the walkways laid in stone, crocuses and creeping phlox intermingle in a quaint blanket of petals. The sun above shines in luminous rays that reflect in whites and golds along the palace windows, the sky mildly cloudy but otherwise a lovely periwinkle.  
  
As always, the one first and foremost in your attention is the prince, and then anyone else whose servant is not readily available at the moment. The pitcher of mead in your hands sloshes gently as you weave between other servants who carry trays of little cakes and sweets, the bustle of nimble feet and the babble of unintelligible conversation mingling together in a familiar hum. Beside the king are Prince Jacob and Princess Jadeyn, leaving the head knight to the side. He doesn’t seem offended by it, and instead talks with Slick, who is there to ensure the celebration goes smoothly. You are sure no one would dare act out of line with him present, not that they have a reason to in the first place.  
  
As you pour mead into Prince Jacob’s glass, you hear the king talking with him. I bet you thought I was set to die and you were going to take the crown, huh? I’ve got a few years on me yet, boy. He claps his son playfully on the shoulder and laughs. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see the apples of Prince Jacob’s cheeks raise as he gives his father a grin, saying that that is news he is quite glad to hear. You can hear the still-present relief in his voice, and in his happiness you find a bit of yours.  
  
You are glad that they’ve held this little party, because you can also see your friends. You’ve missed the way Roxy hums quietly and the way Rose makes sarcastic quips beneath her breath and the way Dave has this weird way of appearing from place to place as if he’s teleporting, but in reality no one focuses on him long enough to track his movements and it only seems that way.  
  
You catch him on your way to grab another pitcher of mead, tell him you heard he fell down the stairs. He gives you a look as if you’ve betrayed him somehow and says that that happened months ago. Don’t be a bag of skunks, Dirk. You huff out a short laugh at that and exchange grins with your brother before moving on.  
  
With a newly filled pitcher in your hands, you aim to walk back to the main portion of the garden when Rose sweeps past you. Watch out for Roxy, she says with a sly smirk as she casts you a sidelong look. You can see bits of soft purple blossoms in her platinum locks and speckling her shoulders, and you wonder where they came from.  
  
You don’t need to wonder for long, for as soon as you step through the woven arch a shower of flowers is tossed upon you by none other than Roxy. The petals catch in your hair, the subtle fragrance hinting at your nose. I’m getting Dave next, she says before you can do anything in retaliation, and scampers off. You would warn him, but he called you a bag of skunks. In your mind, you hope he has fun in flower hell.  
  
Planning to continue your business as if nothing happened, you pad briskly to the large rectangular table and stand by the end, near the prince as you are supposed to. Off to the side, your hands securely holding the rather heavy pitcher, you survey the group as to not miss anyone who waves you over. Prince Jacob turns his head towards you, and you think he is about to call for you but he only laughs with a smile and stands, letting his companions continue their conversation without him as he walks to you.  
  
You’re covered in flowers, he grins, reaching out to brush them from your shoulders. What happened?  
  
You were ambushed. Wait. Shit, you were still in joking mode coming from all those stupid shenanigans and now you’ve inappropriately addressed the prince. Dave won’t be the only one in flower hell, you think.  
  
But then he sputters out another chuckle. Ambushed, you say? He beams as he reaches up to pluck away the petals caught in your blond hair. Chewing at the side of your cheek as your embarrassment begins to subside, you only nod as you stare at the ground. You feel his hands tracing over you, feather-light and barely there as he sweeps the flowers from your hair. And when you think there can’t possibly be any left, you feel his fingertips graze your cheekbones and linger, if only for a moment. It’s enough for your eyes to glance up and risk meeting his, familiar August greens. You expect him to say something, to further question about how you were ‘ambushed’ or to simply turn away and return to the festivities. His lips don’t move, and neither does he.  
  
Your Highness? You ask, voice low and quiet. At your words, he blinks, as if he had been previously lost in thought. At your prompting, he retracts his hands, yet you still feel the shadow of his touches, warm against your skin.  
  
Jake, he says.  
  
You furrow your brows. Pardon me?  
  
Call me Jake, he smiles.  
  
If you do that your brain will surely shit itself. You couldn’t possibly address him as such. That is what only his friends and family call him. What would everyone think, a servant speaking to him so informally?  
  
Then when no one else is around, he compromises. You may drop the formalities.  
  
A second of hesitation takes hold of you, but you give a short nod. If he wishes you to, then you will.  
  
At the table, the king calls him back over, asking what he’s doing over there. Jake looks to his father before giving you a final grin, turning to retake his seat. All the while, your heart flutters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you call a boner in your OTP a 
> 
>  
> 
> hardship  
> (⑅∫°ਊ°)∫


	52. Wounded (Chase)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A haiku:  
> I am very late  
> Very very goddamn late  
> I'm deeply sorry
> 
> Also a big thanks to cuzicouldyay for providing me with more ideas in your last comment on the installment of the demonstuck story! I used them and it made for a good starting scene :0 I hope you don't mind

Your name is Jake English and when you next awaken, it’s to the scent of something burning. Though your consciousness is still vague and mildly tenuous, you blink your eyes open in a befuddled haze. The blurry sight that greets you is John and Jane worriedly sat on the floor looking frazzled, an overturned pot lying beside them. Baby Dave is sat between them looking quite pleased with himself, and you soon find the answer as to why when you spot the doused black singes on your carpet. You fumble for your glasses and slip them on, rolling out the knots in your neck. Your cousins look to you in panic and immediately launch into rushed explanations, however they’re both speaking quite rapidly, which is too much for you to process at the moment. Running a hand through your hair and grabbing at fistfuls to aid in fully waking up, you mumble out a groggy ‘it’s fine’.  
  
Jane bites both of her lips and looks away, embarrassed and ashamed that she let Dave set your floor on fire. John has the same guilty expression, but Dave only laughs. To be fair, you never really warned them about that so it’s more your fault than anyone else’s.  
  
You get up and walk past them, to the bathroom where you splash water onto your face and dry the droplets on the towel beside the sink. The sensation of cold has you feeling a little better, and you lean against the basin with a heavy exhale, fingers curled over the sides. In the mirror you see a fat drop of water clinging to your neck, one you missed when toweling off, and you wipe it with the back of your hand.  
  
When you walk to your room, the door is ajar. Jade is seated beside your bed, arms folded and legs crossed. Dirk is as you left him, unconscious and distressingly pale. When Jade hears you enter, she looks up and frowns. She sent you to bed an hour ago, what are you doing awake?  
  
You shrug, Dave set the carpet on fire. Her brows furrow in disbelief. That little baby?  
  
Yes, that little baby. Your sister stands and makes her way out of your room, presumably to see if the carpet really has caught fire. You take the seat beside your bed and instinctively reach out to take Dirk’s hand. The fingers that meet yours are shockingly cold.  
  
Startled, a feeling of dread plunges into your chest as you quickly move to check his pulse. It’s faint, terribly so, but it’s there and he’s alive and you couldn’t be more relieved. You breathe another sigh as icy fear leaves your heart, wrapping his cold hand in your much warmer ones. Weakly, his fingers move, a tiny twitch that you think you may have just imagined for your yearning for him to wake up. But then they move again to tangle loosely with yours, his eyes fluttering open as his eyebrows squeeze together in a grimace. The sight of him awake grips you, and while you are ecstatic that he is no longer asleep, the color of his eyes fill you with worry. They’re a dull and ashy gray, the usual vibrant fire blazing within them completely burned out. It’s worse than the night at the bridge, than when he called you over when Dave was sick.  
  
Immediately, you are sat beside him on the bed, your palms cradling his face as you express your concern. You see his lips part in an attempt to speak, but no words come out, so he only tilts his head against one of your hands and looks up at you with eyes of cinders, a silent reassurance that he’s okay. You don’t believe him for a second, but you promise that he will be.  
  
In his state, you doubt he’d be able to take your energy the usual way, and you can tell he needs it desperately no matter how he tries to cover it up to make you feel better. Without a second thought, you leave his side and approach the poster on your wall, taking it down and opening the hidden door behind it. Your weapons stare up at you, glinting in the morning light as you reach in and remove a small yet devastatingly sharp pocket knife.  
  
From the bed, Dirk watches as you make your way back over, tugging up your left sleeve and exposing the dark skin beneath. You raise the blade and make a short cut parallel with your forearm, wincing as your flesh dips and gives way to deep crimson. Dirk looks up, worry in his eyes. He’s never taken your blood before, mostly on the account that he didn’t want to hurt you, but now you don’t really have a choice. If he doesn’t, you fear he may die.  
  
You hold the dripping cut to his lips and tell him to please drink, you are so scared for him. He nods and raises a hand to hold loosely onto your wrist as he takes to the seeping cut, lapping at the blood. The feeling of his tongue rolling over the gash stings unpleasantly, but you keep a steady face. Gradually, his eyes regain their burn. It starts from the middle, branching away from his pupils and climbing outwards in shimmering golden strands that layer overtop one another. You’ve never seen it happen before; his head was always tucked against your neck, and you are momentarily lost in its strangely enrapturing beauty. The strands crisscross and overlap as they extend like the tails of fire, gradually regaining the vibrant oranges you’ve come to know so well.  
  
His tongue stills and he pulls away, the reds of your blood staining his lips before he licks them clean. Using the heels of his hands to support himself, he tries to sit up, however the pain from his wound has a rough grunt of discomfort falling from his mouth. You reach out and assist him in righting himself, shifting the pillows so that he has something other than the wall to lean against. He clears his throat, but even that seems to hurt him. You’ve never seen him look so vulnerable, so fragile. The blankets have fallen away from his form, leaving his abdomen exposed except for the bandages Jane had applied last night. The chain of his necklace catches light, his pointy pendant gleaming in the early morning.  
  
Jake? He says. You hum in question, letting him know you’re listening.  
  
Thank you, comes his hushed voice, and you know he means for more than just your blood, but for everything. For not being upset that he appeared out of the blue, and for making sure he lived to see morning. You give him a little smile, one laced with fatigue but warm nonetheless, and you nod. Of course you couldn’t possibly be cross with him, he had nowhere else to turn. Your family understands, and for them to even listen was much more than you anticipated.  
  
He’s quiet for a moment before he asks where Dave is. You assure him Dave is fine, your cousins have been tasked with taking care of him. He’s already set your carpet on fire.  
  
Sorry about that, he murmurs. He’s going to have to try harder to teach Dave not to burn everything he touches, especially since he’s raising him on earth instead of in Hell. You like how he speaks with certainty, like he knows that Dave will definitely live and he will definitely get to raise him. It instills a bit of confidence within you as well, one you didn’t know you needed.  
  
From the living room, the voices of your family drift to your ears. They’ve gotten louder suddenly, telling Dave not to set anything else on fire. Now there are two scorch marks on your carpet. It’s nice to know they’re trying to minimize damage, but in all honesty you don’t really mind. You’ve never liked that carpet much anyway. You tell Dirk this after chuckling a bit at the way he cringes upon overhearing them talking.  
  
Now that you’ve attended to the most immediate concern, you stand, ask if he needs you to fetch anything for him. He says that some water would be nice, and you nod before walking quietly out. In the main room, there truly is another smoking black scuff on the carpet, which John is prodding at with squinted eyes. In the kitchen, you grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator and set it on the counter before washing the cut you made on your arm and slapping a bandage on it. Jane joins you, and you can see wet handprints on her jeans were she’s dried them, likely from when she was filling your pot with water to put out the fire.  
  
How is he? She asks, voice soft.  
  
He’s awake. You suspect he’ll be okay. He’s too stubborn to die, you think to yourself. Even Hal’s told you so, but that might have been more to make fun of you than anything else. There had to be some truth behind his words, though. He sounded at least a little sincere. You have faith that he’ll be alright.  
  
Jane follows you back to your room as she removes her necklace again, the turquoise charm swaying with her movements. She finds Dirk plucking idly at the bandages and she admonishes him not to, taking the seat beside the bed. He stills his hands and returns them to their positions at his sides, sheepishly looking off to the side.  
  
Your cousin says that she’ll be performing another healing spell on him. Focusing positive energy on an affected area rapidly accelerates cell regrowth and repair, she’s told you once. You suppose that that’s how demons heal their wounds so maddeningly quickly.  
  
Dirk nods at Jane, allowing her to work her incantations with the gemstone. It goes much like it did the previous night, your cousin dangling her pendant over the wound and whispering in a language you can hardly hear or understand. Dirk sits silently, his eyes closed and his head inclined, and you have a feeling he’s layering his own efforts overtop that of hers.  
  
Once Jane completes the spell, she clips the pendant back around her neck and stands, warning Dirk again not to pick at the bandages. Until they come off for good, he is not to engage in any strenuous activity. He nods in compliance, and you doubt he has any intention of stressing this abnormal wound past its current irritated disposition. Jane seems satisfied, and informs you that you should change the bandages every twenty-four hours or when they get wet or dirty. You assure her you will, you’ve had stitches before. You know how it works. Jane says that the last time you had stitches was back in June, she’s just making sure you remember.  
  
After she’s reviewed the proper care with you, she leaves again to continue helping take care of Dave. You retake your place at the bedside and twist the cap off the bottle of water, handing it to him. The chilled water has the sides cloudy with condensation, your fingers leaving clear marks around the middle. He takes it and sips cautiously, making sure that swallowing doesn’t hurt too badly.  
  
From over by the window of your room, you hear a quiet yet sudden rhythmic tapping. Curiously, you turn to look, finding a gathering of at least ten birds lining your windowsill. They ruffle their feathers and look at you expectantly as you sit in stunned surprise, brows raised a fraction. Dirk looks over as well, and you can see the way his eyes widen a little. The birds squawk at him and peck against the glass, hopping from side to side. As you watch, two more join the group in chittering and tapping.  
  
Dirk asks if you could open the window, they look like they have something to tell him. With a nod, you stand and walk towards it, unlocking it and pushing it open. A chilled gust of April air curls over you, followed closely by a little wave of birds that twitter and swoop.  A few circle the room before flocking to Dirk, who looks about as they sing their news to him. The lucky ones manage to steal perches on his shoulders while the others gripe at them from his lap and sides.  
  
They chirp and bob in a flurry of sound and movement and feathers, one you could never dream of deciphering, but you can tell Dirk understands by the way his eye’s soften with hidden laughter. He slowly reaches up and gently pets the head of the bird nearest his hand, causing all the others to erupt into an envious frenzy. They crowd around his hands, asking for the same affection, and the corners of his lips quirk upwards in a way you find much too adorable. Dirk makes sure to give all of them an equally fair share of little pats, and you can hear him speaking quietly.  
  
Thank you, he murmurs to them. I’m fine, you didn’t have to worry about me.  
  
Still, they gather and chatter, and he continues. It’s not their fault he was hurt, how were they supposed to know the snakes were in correspondence with Caliborn?  
  
You watch the scene unfold before you, Dirk keeping sure not to offer too much attention to any one bird as they clamor for his affection.  
  
He asks if they have any news of Calliope, to which they quiet a margin and turn to glance at each other. It doesn’t seem like they do, and he requests that they find out how far along the blessings from the World Tree have come. They chirp in compliance and flap their wings, taking off out the window and embarking on the path to Calliope, their eagerness amplified by their apparent need to assuage their guilt over indirectly allowing Dirk to be stabbed.  
  
After every last bird has flown out the window, you close it to keep any more cold air from spilling into your room. Even through your jacket, you feel the ebbing twinge of mid-spring chill. In the wake of the birds, fluffy feathers scatter about the room in soft grays and browns. You should make sure to sweep those up soon, you haven’t a clue where they’ve been.  
  
They seem to really like Dirk, and you tell him as much. He nods once again, says that he still thinks it’s because he gives them food. They’ve started coming to his window just to ask for something to eat, and he could never say no because then he’d feel absolutely awful about himself. Besides, they’ve been really great about keeping him up to date on the city’s happenings. You remark that he truly is too cute for this world and he rolls his eyes.  
  
Chuckling to yourself, you allow your eyes to once again travel to the bandages on his abdomen, the medical tape beginning to roll up on the upper right-hand corner from where he was messing with it earlier. You catch the flesh of your cheek between your teeth and ask why it isn’t healing like usual. He glances down to the covered wound and relays that he can only assume that it’s because of the kind of knife Caliborn used to stab him. It’s a weapon capable of killing him, but since it didn’t hit its mark it seems to have delivered the kind of wound a human would receive. Either that or it just strongly inhibits healing. He isn’t too sure, it’s never happened to him before, mostly because creating that knife is nigh impossible.  
  
He’s mentioned before how difficult it is to make that weapon, and you ask what kinds of things are needed if it’s so out of reach. He waves a hand about, saying that it has to be a sword of pure silver forged in the pits of Hell and cooled in the springs of Heaven. He’s got no idea how he managed to get the sword to Heaven before it cooled off by itself, and he’s even more boggled by the fact that he was able to access the Holy Springs. Then there was the tedious and ridiculously specific rituals he had to complete, like allowing the sword to drink the blood of a yuki-onna and keeping it from touching any light whatsoever for a month. He had to be incredibly diligent and driven, that much you can gather without a doubt.  
  
Fucking insane are Dirk’s words for it. You guess that works, too. His determination to succeed at creating the knife just further proves the tenacity he likely has to brew his immortality potion, and all the more reason to be extremely concerned. Caliborn doesn’t seem like someone who would give up or settle for anything less than what he wants.  
  
He thinks he’ll be alright though, since the wound didn’t kill him, only hurt him. And if he does die from it, then he’ll probably still be okay.  
  
This befuddles you. If he dies, he’ll be okay? That doesn’t make any sense. You see mischief flash on his face.  
  
That’s another hint at what I am, he tells you. You glance down at the steel pendant hanging from the twisted chain around his neck. He said that it was a hint as well, a while ago. The dots still refuse to connect for you, and you have a feeling you won’t know unless he actually changes right in front of you which you doubt will ever happen in the first place. What kind of situation would even offer such a possibility? Not many you would ever find yourself in. You’re probably doomed to never know until he decides to drop this little guessing game and flat-out tells you, which you don’t think will happen either since he seems too fond of it.  
  
He says he’s sure you’ll figure it out sometime soon. He’s given pretty much all the best hints, a few indirectly, and they should fall into place in the near future. You shrug and hope they do, you’re quite curious about it.  
  
Footsteps make their way quietly down the hall, and when you look up you see Jade at your doorway. She glances warily at Dirk, crossing her arms. The air about her is anxious and uncomfortable, for good reason you suppose, but dissolving her worries is something you feel you should be responsible for.  
  
You gesture for her to come forward as you walk around to the edge of the bed, hoping that you’ll find the proper words to diffuse the tension in her stance.  
  
Jade, you say. This is Dirk. Dirk, this is my sister, Jade.  
  
She keeps close to you, her gaze switching back and forth uneasily between you and the demon sitting on your bed.  
  
Your sister clears her throat, and to your surprise addresses Dirk. She’s says it’s good that he’s woken up, and he nods after a short pause, thanking her for any help she offered. He knows how she feels about his ‘kind’. She purses her lips and looks away for a moment, her folded arms tightening a fraction. Your stomach twists in the unbearable awkwardness of the situation. Jade shifts her weight to her left foot, then her right.  
  
Uh, Dirk’s been raising his little brother ever since December, you tell her, grasping desperately at anything that might make her see him in a different light.  
  
At this, he perks up a little and turns toward you, saying that recently Dave’s two bottom teeth have started growing, tiny white slits in his gums.  
  
Jade looks back to him, her brows scrunched ever so slightly. She remarks that she could see them when Dave opened his mouth.  
  
Another lull falls on the forced conversation, only the rustle of clothes bold enough to break the heavy silence. Jade tucks a stray lock of ebony hair behind her ear and clears her throat again before looking straight at Dirk, her spring eyes hardening in what you would call determination. Anyway, what she came in to warn is that if he ever even thinks of hurting you in any way, then he’ll have to answer to her.  
  
  
  
He blinks twice and stares up at her, at her expression gone suddenly cold, and nods. With that, she turns and leaves, the curls of her hair bouncing behind her. Just before she exits your room, she looks behind her shoulder at you and announces she’s going home. Like Dirk, you can only nod your head, and then she’s gone.  
  
You pinch your lips together and hope that maybe her opinion of him has shifted a little. You would like your sister to be on good terms with him, and you think there might have been something when you mentioned his baby brother, who he’s been devotedly caring for despite being thrust into the role unexpectedly and unprepared. She couldn’t possibly still think him an entirely malignant figure, what with how happy Dave is. Even the smallest positive change would mean the world to you.  
  
It’s not long after that your cousins follow suit, saying that they’ll be leaving as well. John hands off a bouncing Dave to you and waves goodbye to him, to which Dave bubbles as he watches him leave. Jane once again tells Dirk not to pick at his bandages before asking if you’ll be alright without them there. You assure her you’ll be fine, you can handle this, and she smiles at you.  
  
Once they leave, Dave begins to whine for Dirk and you promptly place him beside him on the bed. He crawls clumsily on his stomach towards his older brother, placing a diminutive hand on his forearm. His little fingers are further dwarfed when Dirk places his hand over them, telling Dave he can’t be constantly setting things on fire. Dave shows no sign of having understood a word he says and babbles incoherently.  
  
Dirk waves you over to sit beside him on the bed, Dave having found his way onto Dirk’s lap. The mattress dips with your weight, and you settle close to him with soft pillows at your back. He leans against you, and you can feel how much warmer he’s gotten since this morning. It calms you, knowing that his condition is slowly stabilizing despite him probably being in a lot of pain. You turn and place a light kiss against his cheek, to which he gently nudges you in response. Gradually, a blanket of drowsiness settles over you and you find yourself slipping in and out of consciousness. Dirk murmurs that you should get some sleep, he can tell you’re low on energy in the first place. His voice is low and deep and it soothes you ever further, eyes drooping heavily. You nod in response and mumble that if he needs anything, he should wake you up. He promises that he will, and you let your eyes melt closed as you breathe in the scent of oranges.  
  
Later, you reawaken to the feeling of him shifting suddenly. The movement, however small, jars you and has you blinking back. Dirk is staring out the window again. The birds are here again, or at least some of them. They tweet excitedly, most likely asking you to open the window so they can share their news. You adjust your glasses as they’ve gone a little crooked on your face and stand, walking over to slide the window open. They flutter inside and again land beside Dirk. Dave looks about in gleeful wonder as they chirp at him, hopping on tiny legs. Dirk looks over them and nods as they continue to twitter, relaying their messages. When they’re done, he promises that once he’s well again he’ll make sure to give all of them extra sunflower seeds. They ruffle their feathers happily, one after another filing out through the window again.  
  
The sun above has only just begun to slink downwards, and you ask Dirk what they came to say. He informs you that they know Calliope still hasn’t left the World Tree, and he doesn’t know why she’s taking such a long time to get the sword blessed by the spirit residing within. He’s starting to worry about her, what if the spirit isn’t as benign as the stories foretell? What if they’ve hurt her? He knows she can defend herself perfectly fine, she’s a basilisk, of course she can, but would it be anything compared to the age-old spirit that spans from Heaven through earth and down to Hell? He isn’t sure, and really, he’d like to check up on her.  
  
Besides, he kind of needs the sword now that Caliborn is getting serious. Cal shouldn’t find him here, since Dirk’s never used any method of coming to your apartment besides apparition and there’s no way a snake could trace such methods of transportation. Still, he’d rather have the weapon sooner than later. You frown, reason that he couldn’t possibly make the trip in his state, he’s vastly overestimating himself. He shrugs and replies that that may be, but he can’t just leave Calliope by herself. She’s been gone for more than a week now, and hardly a word has been sent back. It just isn’t sitting right with him. He wants to make sure she’s okay.  
  
You furrow your brows and look at the bandages covering the wound. The stitches won’t be ready to take out for at least a week, and here he is, hardly twenty-four hours passed being stabbed and he wants to go on this worrisome expedition. To face a spirit he isn’t even certain is kind, no less! You express your concerns once again and he sighs, looking off to the side.  
  
Tomorrow then, he compromises, and it’s not entirely meeting on mid-ground in your opinion. You chew at the side of your cheek and say that it depends on how his wound looks by then. He nods in compliance.  
  
You hope you’re making the right decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jade was soooo much fun to draw 
> 
> Also birds!! i love the birds


	53. Cardcaptors Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second installment of the Cardcaptors AU :D
> 
> Hope you like it! And sorry if the picture looks odd in some places, my tablet started acting weird halfway through and I had to do the rest using the little touchpad on my laptop.

Dirk, says Roxy to you. You ask her what, even though you know very well what she wants.   
  
Dirk, she whines again, looking down the hallway towards the cafeteria. Again, you ask her what.   
  
Diiiirk, your friend repeats, her hand finding your shoulder blindly as she sways you back and forth. She misses the first few times and accidentally smacks you limply in the face.  
  
Oh, my god, Roxy, what? You ask exasperated as you let your messily prepared sandwich fall back onto your lunch tray.   
  
He’s sitting alone, she tells you sympathetically, facing towards the only table viewable from your place on the floor. You look up and see the familiar sight of Jake English, eating his lunch in solitude. You guess he’s having trouble making friends, being a new kid and all.   
  
Let’s go sit with him, Roxy suggests. Your eyes narrow at the thought, and you take a sip from your bottle of water, washing down the taste of wheat bread.   
  
Can’t you put aside your stupid rivalry for like, thirty minutes? She asks, finally looking back to you. Her brows are furrowed, rose-colored eyes pleading sadly with you. Oblivious to your conversation, Jake pokes at his lasagna with his fork, pushing it around on his tray. It doesn’t taste much like lasagna, or anything even remotely appetizing. He sets down his fork and instead eats the grapes he spooned onto his tray when he was in line.   
  
You guess you do feel kind of bad for him, he looks so pitifully lonely. You purse your lips and try to determine how much you don’t like him. Is it enough to let him keep sitting alone as cliques form around him, but never with him?   
  
Please? She adds, her bottom lip jutting out in a pout in her best puppy-dog face. Letting your head roll back to hit the wall in defeat, you groan out a begrudging ‘fine’. She immediately brightens and grins, pushing herself onto her feet with her tray in her hands. You follow, a bit more slowly than she, and trudge after her as she walks down the hall, a bounce in her step. Her hair bobs as she makes her way over to Jake, and she beams with a cheery hello as she sets her tray beside his and takes a seat. He looks up, green eyes wide in surprise at her unexpected appearance. He gives a hello back as you place your tray to the right of Roxy’s and slide into the seat. It feels strange to sit on the benches of the lunch tables as you’ve spent the majority of your school career on the floor with Roxy. The noise was much too loud for you, and you can only tolerate loud noises when you are the one responsible for them. Even now, the roar of conversation about you has your head buzzing. You do your best to block it out as you tear bits of bread from your sandwich and hand them off to Hal, who is sitting discreetly in your backpack. Or, as discreetly as a snarky talking seagull can sit.   
  
Roxy easily strikes up a conversation with Jake, asking how he likes his classes and who his teachers are. He pulls out his hastily put together schedule and shows it to her, and she looks over it.   
  
Oh, you have Ms. Nelson? She’s the absolute best! Look, Dirk, he has Ms. Nelson for Composition!   
  
Roxy shows his schedule to you, pointing at the name of the teacher. You remember having her last year, and she would sometimes make these really awesome cookie-brownies before big tests. She really was the best, and you wish you’d have had her again this year. You nod and concur that she was indeed great on all accounts before turning back to your sandwich. It’s not going to eat itself.   
  
The rest of the lunch period goes by with Roxy pulling you into hesitant conversation with Jake, finding out every single class he was taking and who his teachers were. You’ll likely forget them before the day ends. Once you toss your trash away, you return to class with the bell.   
  
Each day that follows, Roxy sits with him and you sit with her, the dull roar of surrounding conversation grating on your ears. During those forty-five minutes, you temporarily drop your grudge against him as best you can and put up the façade of a not-so-eager friend. He’s not a bad guy, and Roxy likes him just as well, however you find it difficult to discard your rivalry so readily. It’s mostly your own stubborn pride preventing you from forming anything other than a hesitant acquaintanceship with him. Roxy says that you’re just being childish.   
  
When you sit down with the two of them on Friday, Roxy complains about the project she needs to do for history. You nod along, since you and she share the same teacher and therefore the same work. Jake pitches in that he also has this project, and Roxy suggests that everyone get together to work on it. It would cut the load into thirds!   
  
You think this would be a good idea, mostly because the mere thought of doing the entire thing by yourself makes you a little sick to your stomach. Jake also believes that this would be the most agreeable course of action, what with all the other work you each already have. Roxy nods but says that you can’t meet up at her house since her mother would prefer to have the place quiet. The deadline to turn in her manuscript is soon, and she’s been writing nonstop. Jake relays that he’s still not done unpacking his things, so going to his place is out. That just leaves you. And your apartment is free basically twenty-four/seven. And Roxy knows this. She’s looking at you expectantly. There is the smallest quirk of a smile on her lips. You can’t decline because you don’t want to prove her right about you being childish. Well, it might be true, but you don’t want to add wood to this crackling fire. You are left with no choice but to relent and invite them over to your apartment tomorrow.   
  
When you text Dave, he says that it’s fine for them to come over. Should he order a pizza for them tomorrow?   
  
You text back with an affirmation because pizza is probably the best food ever and relay the information to the others, who nod appropriately. After exchanging phone numbers with Jake and agreeing on a time slot, you return to class at the sound of the bell.   
  
Saturday greets you like a warm hug before a punch in the neck, because Jake texts you asking where you live and you have to give him your address if you have any hope of getting your shitty project over with. Your teacher wants three essays, and grading them will surely have him busy until the end of the year since he’s kind of flaky about that sort of thing. You’d feel bad for him, but he’s also making you write three essays and any pity in your heart of hearts has been launched straight out the window at Mach 5 speed.   
  
In the kitchen, Dave is sipping coffee from a mug with a picture of a frog on it as he scrolls through his phone. He nods a good morning to you as you fetch a poptart from the cabinets, telling you that it turns out he won’t be here to supervise the three teenagers running around in his apartment. Someone at the antiques store called in sick, so he has to take their shift today.   
  
You frown at this, doesn’t he work at the records shop downtown?   
  
Dave downs the last of his coffee and says that that was last week. He works at the antiques shop now.   
  
Your brother gets up and washes out his mug, moving to grab his jacket before he seems to remember something. As he slips his arms through the sleeves, he gestures for you to come see. Yesterday, the owner of the shop found something that was never filed in their inventory stuffed in the back corner, she has no idea how it even got there. She ended up giving it to him since no one stepped up to claim it, and he doesn’t really want it so he’s giving it to you.   
  
A long cylindrical container sits upright beside the front door, an air of mystery clouding about it. Dave picks it up and spins the top off, tipping the end so that the contents slide carefully out. The hilt of a sword lands cushioned by the palm of his hand. The guard seems to be made up of a crescent moon, the blade straight and narrow, glinting brass in the light. Something about it strikes you as odd, but you can’t put your finger on it.   
  
It’s weird, right? He asks, almost like he’s reading your thoughts and making them sound. You nod, eyes tracing over it the way your fingers would if you weren’t holding a poptart. Do you want it? He looks to you, shades hooked on the collar of his shirt. You shrug and say sure, you’ll take it. Dave nods and slips it back into the container, twisting the cap on before handing it to you. Your free hand closes around it, the weight surprisingly light compared to other swords you’ve held.   
  
I’m leaving now, Dave tells you, plucking his shades from his collar and unfolding the arms as he grabs his keys. Don’t act stupid, I know the desire to is borderline unadulterated in my absence.   
  
You promise that you’ll make an attempt to be sensible and take a bite of your poptart. That’s reassuring, he rolls his eyes sarcastically before perching his shades on his nose and reaching to ruffle your hair. You only let him because you haven’t done anything to it yet, but you do grumble in annoyance.   
  
He reaches in his pocket and pulls out a couple crumpled twenty dollar bills, handing them to you. You have to hold the poptart between your teeth to accept it. For the pizza, he explains. And then for whatever else you want. You guess you can forgive him for messing with your hair, however mussed it already was.   
  
Thanks, you say around your breakfast, pocketing the cash before moving to hold the pastry once again.   
  
No problem, he replies before turning to slip on his shoes. See you later, he waves as he opens the door and steps out.  
  
Bye, you return before the door closes. With the apartment quiet to yourself, you place the container holding the sword on the table and finish your breakfast. Roxy and Jake should be over in a couple hours, so you suppose you should go about making yourself a little more presentable than bedhead and sweatpants.   
  
Noon rolls around with the sound of knocking on your front door, catching you as you fold a previously twisted and wrinkled blanket. Letting it drop back onto the couch, you go to answer the door to find Roxy with a textbook tucked in the crook of her arm and a leather bag hanging off her shoulder. She grins widely with a hello, her lips faultlessly black, and you invite her in and tell her Jake hasn’t arrived yet. He’ll probably be here soon, though.   
  
She shrugs off her bag and places it on the cushiony armchair in the living room, zipping it open and pulling out her laptop. She already has your Wi-Fi password, but you fish out the memory of it anyway in case Jake needs it. You’re all definitely going to need to do some serious research to write three goddamn essays.   
  
It’s not much later when Jake’s knock sounds hesitantly at your door, and when you answer it he’s got his phone in his hand, the text with your address open. At the sight of you, he breathes a sigh of relief. He was afraid he would give the wrong apartment a visit. Roxy looks up from where she’s plugging the charger for her laptop into the outlet and loudly greets him, hi Jake! How’s it goin’? You swear, she is all capital letters.   
  
You let him inside, the worn bag on his shoulders weighted heavily. He shrugs it off and lets it hang from his fingers, looking about like he’s unsure.   
  
Put your bag wherever, you tell him nonchalantly as you move to fetch your history textbook, the tome heavy in your hands. He complies and sets it next to the chair where Roxy’s bag lays, crouching to dig out his materials.   
  
Roxy asks for your attention as you flip open your textbook to the page you had placed the paper detailing the requirements for the project in.  
  
What’s up? You ask, removing the paper. It’s crinkled around the sides from where it stuck out from the pages.   
  
What’s that? She asks, pointing to the container on the table. You walk over and pick it up, saying you can show her if she wants. She nods and stands, watching as you unscrew the cap and let the hilt of the sword fall into your palm just as Dave had. The metal is not as cold as you expected it to be.   
  
She makes a noise of wonder, her lips forming an ‘o’. Can I hold it? She asks, tilting her head at you.   
  
Sure, you accept, and she carefully closes her fingers around the grip as you remove your hand. You slide the rest of the container off, and now you can see the sword in its entirety. It ends in a deadly point, almost too fine to be true. Roxy admires the spotless guard with curious and appreciative eyes, her other hand coming up to cradle the bejeweled pommel.   
  
It’s so pretty, she says absently. So pretty. So…   
  
She stops, her lips still and her eyes go unfocused. Face completely relaxed. It hardly looks as if she’s breathing.   
  
Roxy? You ask, looking at her strangely. Your brows scrunch when she doesn’t respond. Jake looks up from where he’s pulling out his books at the two of you and his eyes widen a fraction.   
  
Dirk, he says quietly. That’s a Scratch card.   
  
He gets slowly to his feet and cautiously begins to walk over, looking anxiously at Roxy, at her usually beaming face gone slack. The floor creaks beneath his feet when he takes another step, and immediately she turns and points the tip of the sword straight at him, her form unwavering and steady. Jake stills, eyes switching from the point of the sword to Roxy’s blank face. Behind you, the sound of rapidly flapping wings comes barreling out of your room. Hal swoops up to land on your shoulder, white feathers bristled in disapproval.   
  
What the fuck is this? He asks, annoyance in his voice.   
  
A problem, you respond. Hal whips out a wing to smack you in the face, but it doesn’t hurt since he’s too soft.   
  
Roxy, can you hear me? Jake asks, speaking clearly. She gives no sign of having understood him. He takes another careful step, and she raises the blade threateningly.   
  
You don’t know what to do, would any card you have hurt her? Any of them have the capacity to, especially if you use them to bind. You absolutely do not want to hurt her.  
  
I don’t want to fight you, Jake states. At the sound of the word ‘fight’, Roxy bounds into action. She swipes the blade downwards, forcing Jake to dodge. He’s caught off guard and stumbles a bit as he moves out of the whizzing sword’s path, bracing himself against the wall. Above him, a display shelf holding one of your katanas hangs, and he grabs it for the sole purpose of defense before darting to escape another skilled slash from Roxy. The tip dusts over his arm, leaving a shallow scrape that hardly bleeds but it still sends alarm into your system that this could end with someone actually getting hurt. You ask Hal what you should do, and it seems he makes an exception of his rule to never help you out since there are actual risks right now.   
  
Maybe if you distract her, Hal suggests. The Sword card makes her a master, so it might be tough. You nod, keeping a close eye on her balanced movements. They’re so controlled, almost robotic in their perfection.

If Jake wasn’t about to be sliced like an apple, you would admire such a display of skill. She horizontally sweeps her blade at him and he brings up your katana to block. It’s a fruitless effort, for Roxy’s sword cuts clean through the solid metal, cleaving it in half and sending Jake tripping backwards once more. The other half of the katana clatters to the floor pathetically, Roxy kicks it aside as she advances, sword extended as if it’s leading her. As if she’s an extension of the sword, not the other way around as it should be. You wouldn’t put it past reality to drop a shit-bomb like that.   
  
Roxy, you call, hoping to steal her attention away from Jake. She doesn’t falter or look to you, just raises the sword again, letting it travel a path devastatingly near his torso. Jake grits his teeth as he tosses away the useless half of the katana, diving out of the way of her oncoming attacks. She follows after him, footwork textbook and precise.   
  
Hal pecks at you. What’s the first step in literally anything related to the capturing of Scratch cards? He asks, scarlet eyes flat. You nod and fish the key from your pocket, reciting the chant and watching as it grows and lengthens into the orange sealing wand. Staff in hand, you decide to no longer spectate like this is a simple school fight. Again, you call her name. She doesn’t respond, only delivers another whistling jab towards Jake, who desperately dodges. You grab a pillow off the couch and chuck it at her, hoping to break her concentration, yet she takes no notice as it hits her in the back and plops to the floor. At least she didn’t cut that in half too, you think.   
  
Her blatant disregard for the pillow has an idea forming in your head, and like almost all your ideas it is not very smart. Damn, and Dave even made it a point to tell you not to act like an imbecile before he left.   
  
Your feet carry you forward, rushing up behind her with palms at the ready. Hal sweeps away from you, his balance thrown with your sudden movements. Your hands meet her back where her shoulder blades slant and you shove as hard as you can, hoping to deter her from her constant strikes. She doesn’t move. In fact, she hardly budges. It’s like she’s become a statue of stone embedded into the ground, giving no amount of impetus the hope of changing her position. Actually, it sends pain shooting up your arms and into your shoulders from trying to push her boulder-like stance. You back up a bit, reassessing the situation with the new information you’ve discovered. Tackling her to the floor is out, you guess. Shucks, and that was your next idea, too. You would snap your fingers in disappointment, but such an action is hardly appropriate for the current dilemma. Jake is still leaping out of range from her attacks, and if you don’t stop her soon someone is going to get hurt.   
  
Roxy raises her arm again, stepping closer to Jake as he retreats, however his back meets the wall and cuts off hope of escaping in time. Damn it all, if anyone’s going to suffer because of your ignorance, it’s going to be you. Lips pressed into a line, you dart into action again to flash between the two, a hand coming up to catch her wrist before she slashes it down. She’s a lot stronger than you expected, and you don’t manage to stop the blade fast enough to prevent any damage. It nicks a cut into your shoulder that has you wincing, but you manage to minimize the wound, arms shaking beneath the force.   
  
Roxy, wake up, you grit out through clenched teeth. She blinks once, twice, her strength lessens a bit at your voice. You push back as best you can, Jake is calling you a brash numbskull for pulling such a dangerous stunt. Ignoring him, you call out to Roxy again as you strain against her strength. She sucks in a deep breath of air through her nose as her eyes widen, finding your face as her mouth shapes your name. The grip she has on the sword lessens, and you take the chance to knock it free from her hands. It falls away from her, landing on the carpet as her knees buckle, slipping unconscious and tumbling into your arms. You waste no time and command the sword return to its original form, bringing the sealing wand down over it. The weapon erupts into light, falling to white ribbons as it shoots back into a card. On the ground, you pick it up, The Sword written on the bottom in pleasing text.   
  
You turn your friend over, she’s limp and asleep but otherwise you are pretty sure she’s okay.   
  
This is all your fault. You should have been able to tell it was a card in the first place, how could you let her hold something like that? Jake counters, no it was _my_ fault, I should have been able to detect the card.   
  
You’re both dumbasses, Hal pitches in from his perch on the couch.   
  
Whatever the fuck floats your boat, you tell him. It’s quiet for a moment, adrenaline settling and making the sting in your shoulder becoming more apparent but you disparage it. Jake helps you transfer Roxy to the couch, placing a pillow beneath her head. Hal hops about before making himself comfortable on the armrest, telling you to go take care of the cut on your shoulder. You look down at it, a disappointingly small amount of blood blooming through the fabric. It probably won’t even leave a scar. In fact, you’re pretty sure a band-aid would take care of it.   
  
You stand to leave the room, venturing to the medicine cabinet in the kitchen to fetch the battered box of assorted band-aids. You tell Jake to come over, you saw him get cut too. He gets up and walks into the kitchen, Hal sweeping with him to rest on the countertops. Jake’s cut is hardly deep enough to warrant more than a band-aid as well, and he plucks one from the box to place over the small wound. In order to better reach the cut on your shoulder, you have to remove your shirt.   
  
I didn’t know the forecast was cloudy with a chance of nipples, Hal calls from his place beside the stove. You chuck your balled up shirt at him. He flutters out of the way with a peeved huff. It’s his own fault for being such an asshole talking seagull. You lean over the sink to wash out the wound and slap a band-aid over the little cut.   
  
After you find another shirt to slip on, Roxy stirs with a confused mumble. What happened? She asks, eyes squinted as she sits up.   
  
The sword was a card apparently, you tell her. Your explanation does little to help, so you reach into your pocket and pull it out, showing it to her. There’s a picture of the sword on it, completely vertical. You assure her it was all straightened out, and she shrugs with a nod. You have a feeling if you tell her the unabridged version of what happened, she’ll blame herself for hurting both you and Jake, no matter how small the wound.   
  
After such an ordeal, none of you think to start work on your projects. You do order pizza, though, but school-related productivity remains at an underwhelming zero.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always wanna tell you guys so much stuff but then i forget everything by the time i get around to posting a new chapter


	54. Ghost Hunt - Night Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to post this yesterday, but when I opened the document the program had crashed and I lost about half of it and I had to write it AGAIN ugh. Also I have so much schoolwork. the list goes on forever. why would they do this to me.

Your name is Jake English and you are sloppily writing down what conspired while you had turned off your video recorder to talk to Dirk last night. You need to remember for later when you have to talk about it on camera, and having a loose narrative to refer back to should make it much easier.  
  
The bruises around your neck ache, but not as bad as they used to, and you rub your fingers against the marks to soothe them. Beside the battered spiral-bound notebook sits the nurse's brass locket, the chain overlapping itself in winding links. Your handwriting slants across the page, a growing paragraph inching along the lines. Here and there, you've scribbled out lines of text, arrows inserting more details into your writing and circles around important information. It's incredibly messy, and you're certain you'll need to rewrite it neater once you're done. Hopefully you can decipher your own scrawl, you've given yourself trouble over it before.  
  
John and Jane are going over the content they've gathered, deciding what they'll let go on air. They're locked in an argument over it because there's so much great evidence and only a small slot of time they're granted, so they'll have to pull some things to make it fit.  
  
John thinks they should maybe cut the part where you were attacked and simply relay what happened via voice. It's a bit of an intense moment, and he isn't sure how well it would be received by the audience. Jane disagrees, she says that it's too much of an important occurrence to cut. She thinks they should cut the harmless angry spirit in the oncology unit. John insists he is for comedy relief.  
  
As they continue their banter, Jade walks out of the bathroom, toweling off her damp hair. You hear her murmur something about terrible water pressure, and you agree. What is it with hotels and having shower heads that feel like you're being peed on by several people? Truly awful. Jade snorts at you, and you realize you’ve said this out loud.  
  
As you turn back to the notebook covered in your scrawl, John’s cell phone begins to ring. He pauses in his argument with Jane to check who it is, announcing to the rest of you that Nurse Feferi is calling him. You set your hotel-brand pen down and swivel around in your chair to look at him. John answers the call and turns on the speaker. Feferi’s voice flits scratchily through, asking how everyone’s doing. Jade answers cheerfully back, along with John. You and Jane offer your salutations as well.  
  
John asks if she needs anything from you guys, and she responds that she was able to contact her grandmother. She’s never been so thankful to have such a tech-savvy grandma, most old people hardly know how to send an e-mail but she was able to connect with her on skype! Anyway, when she asked about the name Condie, her grandmother had nodded and said that that had been her mother. The nurse is Feferi’s great grandmother! This revelation is hardly a surprise.  
  
Feferi had asked her to tell her about her great grandmother, as much as she could remember. Condie had been an incredibly intelligent and driven woman. She was strict at times, but she always had her daughter’s best interest in mind. She was wholly dedicated to her work, and when Fef’s grandmother was very young, she recalls her taking a considerable amount of pride in her job saving people, and would always go the extra mile when it came to a patient’s well-being.  
  
Of course, when it was her own daughter in the emergency room, she may have crossed the line a bit.  
  
Fef’s grandmother had been in dire need of a liver transplant when she was ten years old, and the list of people waiting for one was more extensive than her untreated lifespan would allow. Condie was desperate for something, anything to save her daughter’s life, and she started digging up files. She searched until she found the data of someone whose liver her body wouldn’t reject. Then she found the person.  
  
Feferi’s grandmother underwent a liver transplant surgery shortly afterwards. It was successful, and Condie had never been so relieved. However, she did become a little paranoid. She feared that any day, the police would knock on her door for killing someone, but more than anything she felt guilty. She had ended someone’s life for the sake of her daughter’s, and murder was never something she thought she would ever commit.  
  
After that, it was only downhill. She became harsh and austere, much more so than previously. Slowly, she drifted farther away from the person she once was. She was out of the house more often than not, and when she came home her usual light seaside perfume was overpowered by the scent of blood.  
  
It was around that time that she started associating with a man named Grant. He was tall, incredibly so, with a menacing scowl and muscles that bulged beneath his clothes. He would stop by their house occasionally, but never for more than a few minutes. Sometimes he would try to smile, but his frowns were so much more agreeable; at least they would reach his eyes.  
  
After a few years, Grant was taken in by the police and charged with serial murder. The list of the dead went on and on, and more still were only marked as missing. Condie had taken his side in court even though she didn't particularly like him, and managed to cooperate with his lawyer and have his punishment carried out at Saint Greston's Clinic on account of being mentally unstable, where he was locked away in the psyche ward. Fef's grandmother never heard much of him after that, except when Condie complained about how ungrateful he was.  
  
Saved him from the penitentiary, she'd mutter. They could have even sent him to an Asylum. Stuck my neck out for him, the bastard.  
  
The story coincides with another you’ve heard quite recently. Jade turns to you and mouths ‘the Makara patient’ who must surely be Grant, there is no mistaking.  
  
When Fef’s grandmother was old enough, she moved away from Houston to make a life for herself, leaving her mother behind. She recalls Condie seeming relieved when she left, and it. Well. It hurt. Was she unwanted? Unloved? She never got the answers to those questions, for not even three months had passed in her new home than she received a notice saying Condie had committed suicide.  
  
And her mother specifically stated in her note that she was not allowed to return to Houston for the funeral.  
  
Feferi’s grandmother had no idea what she could have possibly done to make her mother so cross with her. Sure, she had been rebellious and a bit of a handful, she could see that now, but was it enough to warrant such an act? The question has eaten at her all her life, and she can’t help but regret every second she spent in defiance.  
  
Perhaps your team can quell her worries. You don’t think a mother who would kill for her daughter would suddenly decide she no longer loved her, no matter how disorderly she was. She was young, and she wanted to exercise some kind of control over her own life. You’ve never heard of something so normal.  
  
Feferi says that she’s sure her grandmother would be glad to hear that. Also, she adds, if you could, I know this might be asking a bit much, but could you try to find out why Condie treated her this way? She’d like to make her grandmother feel better, it must have been terrible having to live her life with that hanging over her head.  
  
John assures her that you’ll all try your best to unravel every twist to this curling mystery. And she thanks him sincerely, you can hear her little smile when she speaks. I look forward to seeing you all tonight, she sings. John responds that the feeling is mutual, and they hang up after an exchange of goodbyes.  
  
You lean back in your chair and slowly spin around in it, contemplating the new info you’ve just received. Was it safe to say that the killings stemmed from her desperation to cure her daughter? You think so. Jane agrees, and having her word to back yours up is oddly gratifying.  
  
The reason he went to a regular hospital instead of a prison or an asylum has been uncovered. Condie intervened in the court trial. You feel like you should message Gamzee and tell him.  
  
Jade is already switching on her laptop, searching for any more records of the court case charging Grant Makara. She types in key words like serial murderer and 1920s, but next to nothing shows up. She finds Gamzee’s Facebook page again, and shoots him a quick message. He doesn’t respond and is likely busy with something. You hope he finds the info relevant, or at least remotely interesting. You know you do, but that could possibly the thrilling high of uncovering new clues. Jane is completely enthused by the new side of the story. What a different light to paint the nurse in! A fresh point of view! A little more three-dimensional than before.  
  
Caught up on her own thoughts, John attempts to take up a pen and write down his opinion for what they’ll cut in the show. It doesn’t get passed Jane, and immediately they’re back to bickering. You return to your scribbled notes as Jade types a status update on the show’s blog page.  
  
The sun falls in red that night, richly seeing you off as you enter into the abandoned hospital for the fifth time. You keep the nurse’s necklace tucked securely in your pocket with a few spare batteries and a pack of gum you forgot to take out earlier.  
  
Unsurprisingly, it’s dark and cold within the halls littered with glass and remnants of the past. Your team quietly discusses where to search next, introducing the future audience to the fifth night in the hospital.  
  
What do you think’s going to happen tonight, John asks Jane with an excited grin.  
  
Something big, she responds, mirroring his expression. The only reason you can see this is because you’re handling the full-spectrum camcorder. You have a feeling much of this sibling interaction will be chopped away from the actual showing, but that doesn’t mean they can’t post a less abridged version online. You know they’ve done it before. Of course, you don’t think they’ve ever had over thirty hours of content to sift through and cram into a fifty-two minute timeslot. It might not even fit in the extras section they have online. They’ll think of something, you tell yourself. You’re glad you don’t have to do things like that.  
  
Before they can decide on any kind of schedule to follow for the night – a task they likely should have discussed prior to entering the clinic – John’s foot hits something on the ground. He pauses and looks down with a frown, kneeling to inspect what he had nudged along.  
  
It’s a pen. You bite your cheek. The previous journey within introduced you to a couple pens as well, however you brushed them off as being unimportant. Now you’re starting to wonder if the opposite may be true. You are borderline certain there were absolutely no pens in this hallway yesterday. It was purposefully placed here, you think. A few feet away from it, another pen sits. It’s completely parallel with the walls as well as precisely in the center, too perfectly positioned to be a coincidence. Is this some kind of message? If so, you aren’t quite certain what it’s attempting to convey. You examine the two pens, one that’s obviously been disturbed by John’s foot. Perhaps the message has been obscured by the shift? It’s very possible.  
  
As you discuss the matter with your family, you hear a faint creaking. It’s hard to pick up at first, but Jade, who’s always had excellent hearing, shushes the group. The sound is high-pitched, like metal scraping slowly over itself in a rusty groan. Something is rolling back and forth, you can tell in the newfound silence. Everyone quietly stands, as if making a sound will cause the noise to disperse. It weakly persists, quivering echoes caught on the turns of the hallways.  
  
John cautiously takes a step, straining his ears to hear. The creaking continues, and Jade takes the lead in searching for its source. You place your steps delicately, minimizing any footsteps to a soft hush. Your sister follows the sound carefully, through the winding halls of the destitute hospital. The noise grows louder with each step closer, tweaking at your ears uncomfortably. The broken tiles clink beneath your weight, their noise timid and fractured.  
  
Wide double doors loom before you, A&E Unit written on a panel beside them. The slim windows running up the doors have cracked in places, jagged holes riddling the glass ominously. Within, the source of the creaking lurches forward, then backwards. With a swallow, Jade places a palm on the unusually cold door and pushes slowly open, everyone following after her. John looks eager, his camera aimed with purpose.  
  
As soon as you all clear the door, the creaking ceases. Everyone frowns, looking about in hopes of finding some kind of clue as to what could have been making the noise. Without a word, you all split off along the hall, knowing not to venture too far from the rest of the group. Jade and John are checking the rooms on the left, while you and Jane look through the rooms on the right. In one room, you find pills scattered across the floor gathering dusty grime, an odd sensation under the rubber of your shoes. You aren’t sure what kind of medicine they are, only that they are white and oblong in shape, rather generic pill qualities. Hopefully no rats have nibbled on any.  
  
Dark bottles of peroxide litter the rooms. Empty, you suspect. Either that, or it’s all been broken down into plain water. You doubt a bottle of peroxide could last three years, let alone fifty. Jane dares you to take a swig from one. You politely decline.  
  
You and she continue down the right-hand side of the hallway, moving to check around a corner leading off to more rooms. The empty hallway you expect is quite different from what sits before you. Laid side-to-side, perfectly straight in an immaculately neat line, pens spread across the floor, all pointing towards you and Jane. Behind them, a wheelchair sits out of place, the cushioned seat faded and rippling with tears. Nothing about this could have happened naturally.  
  
Jane calls John and Jade over urgently, her camera up and documenting the strangely deliberate display. It’s meticulously arranged, there has to be at least a hundred pens forming the line.  
  
Who are you? John asks aloud, addressing the spirit who must be creating these signs. The wheelchair inches forward, the scraping creak from earlier filling your ears.  
  
What are you trying to tell us? He inquires. The wheelchair rolls back like its disappointed. The view of your camcorder goes unfocused, everything you see blurring about the edges. You inform John quietly, and he looks over to see what you see.  
  
Weird, he frowns. Maybe the spirit is messing with it?  
  
The thought sends a bit of a shiver down your spine, but you’ve begun to become a bit blasé about being near ghosts again.  
  
Just as suddenly as it went unfocused, it snaps back to the clear image. You are relieved, glad to have your one method of sight returned. Jade gives a squeak of surprise, but before you can ask if she’s alright, a voice winds through your mind.  
  
_Follow._  
  
Follow?  
  
Something touched my hand, Jade elaborates with an unsettled laugh. You make sure she still feels alright, no nausea or out-of-place feelings. She assures you she is fine, though she did feel a hint of determination when she felt something touch her. Jade thinks that whoever it was wants to help everyone. They’re trying their best. We’re trying our best, too, she tells the spirit.  
  
John has everyone stay an extra ten minutes, but in that timespan nothing of further interest occurs. Rather reluctantly, you all return back the way you came to resume the night from where you left off, back with the first two pens. Your footsteps are sibilant and at times catch on bits of debris that’s fallen from the ceiling or shattered lightbulbs. The double doors sweep closed behind you, disrupting the stagnant air that hangs like dust.  
  
With the turn of the corridor, you find your way back to where you started. The pens are no longer there. John checks left and right but they seem to have vanished, no trace of them have been left whatsoever. Jane joins the search, but their attempts are fruitless.  
  
Perhaps they were taken to form that line back in the A &E unit? Jane suggests. John gives a short nod, a frown on his face.  
  
What is this spirit trying to tell you? Obviously something important, or else it wouldn’t have exerted so much energy lining up all those pens. You have a feeling it is growing exasperated with you and your team, and the display was some kind of emphasis. A message emboldened, italicized, and underlined. You feel a smidgeon daft for not understanding still.  
  
Cold air flits over your neck in an icy stream, making you jolt and shiver, turning around to see if anything strange is behind you. The hallway is empty. Your team asks you if something is wrong, but before you can respond a figure flashes before you. Startled, you stumble backwards and end up bumping into Jade, who steadies you worriedly. The figure flickers again, like its uncertain of its form, and suddenly you remember where you’ve seen this before.  
  
Dirk? You ask, a little hopeful.  
  
_Hey_.  
  
It _is_ Dirk! You feel yourself smile, and you ask him if he knows anything about the pens you’ve been finding everywhere.  
  
_Tavros says you should follow them_ , he informs you. _They’re pointing you around_.  
  
Jane face-palms, what a simple solution. You were all trying to interpret it like it was a symbolic school reading passage instead of taking it at face-value. Everyone is so silly.  
  
You ask if he knows what this ‘Tavros’ ghost is pointing you toward. He hasn’t a clue, either. Jane invites him to accompany the team around but he doesn’t respond, so you think he’s left unannounced again. Oh well, first things first, you need to find more pens. John agrees, and you all set off on a new expedition, Operation Pen. You would pull a party popper if you had one.  
  
It doesn’t take long for Operation Pen to reach success, for in the second hallway over you again find a pair of pens pointing down the corridor. Your team eagerly follows their direction, finding another pair pointing you around a corner. They guide you through the shadowed hospital, through the oncology unit where you’re pretty sure the hot-tempered spirit you’ve heard of tries to say something, but his voice is lost in the motionless air. You think you hear someone snicker, but you aren’t sure. It wasn’t anyone on the J-team, that’s for sure.  
  
More pens have been laid out for you to follow, directing you deeper into the abandoned hospital. The signs on the walls read Health Information Management. Beneath them say Laundry and the Pharmacy. You delve further still. Jane seems giddy with excitement, as does John. It would be a lie to say you weren’t also anticipating something groundbreaking. You pass the Medical Library and the Lab before the pens change direction. They point not down the hall, but at a door. Beside the door reads Med Staff Services. Jade gently pushes it open, moving the inch-thick dust behind it. A desk like the one on the other side of the hospital sits in what was probably once grand splendor but is now but a forgotten and dirtied remnant of the past.  
  
Jane points, there are more pens here. They lead you deeper inside, to the back where old and yellowed files sag in their folders. You think you might find something there, but the pens point you past it. You follow them to the very back, where a hall of small offices stand behind closed doors. The third one from the left is what you are pointed to, and you assume this one is what the fuss is about.  
  
John says he’s been here before, but these doors were locked. He couldn’t get through. Jade tries the knob, and sure enough it can only be jiggled, not turned. You all sigh in disappointment. How are you ever going to learn what’s important enough to commence Operation Pen?  
  
_I’ll try,_ comes a familiar voice that makes you jump a little. Oh, Dirk is still here. You thought he left. The temperature drops ever further, the tips of your fingers grow slightly numb. You wait with bated breath to see if he’ll be able to get the door open for everyone. Otherwise you might have to try and pick the lock, which you have next to no experience with. Perhaps Jane does? You wouldn’t be too surprised.  
  
To your relief, you hear the lock click. He’s gotten it open for you! Abuzz with gratitude, everyone thanks Dirk, who remains quiet. Jade again tries the knob, and it twists just fine. The door noisily opens, permitting you entrance. John walks in first, remarking that the office is quite small. Hardly enough room for more than a desk and a chair. You agree, the space within is indeed cramped, but you think that’s only because you’re fitting four people and a ghost in such a small place. It would likely be quite comfortable if there were only one person.  
  
On the desk is a plain picture frame featuring what you believe is the same girl in the locket you found on the pipes in the bathroom, Feferi’s grandmother. Was this Condie’s office? If so, you are prepared to scour the entire thing from top to bottom.  
  
Jane slides open the first drawer of the desk, finding spare paper neatly stacked within. The next one yields similarly simple results like an emergency sewing kit and – surprise – some spare pens. You don’t think these particular pens are here for communicating messages, though. Hair ties, a tiny key, and hand lotion are in the next beside a little jar of paperclips and a cloth to clean glasses. It’s all so spectacularly normal, yet still so fascinating. Maybe it’s just the thrill of being nosy.  
  
None of the desk drawers hold anything of interest to the investigation your team is conducting. You are hardly disheartened, and you move to open the drawers of the filing cabinet stuffed in the corner of the office. There are empty folders in the first few, but the very last one is closed tight. Your finger traces over the metal lock near the top of the drawer, and you have a feeling there is something important in there. How are you to open it?  
  
Jane taps your shoulder. Hands you the small key from the desk drawer. Oh, right. That makes sense. You thank her and insert the key into the lock, giving it a gentle twist. The tumbler rolls and clicks, your heartbeat quickens. You slide open the drawer.  
  
Inside is a leather-bound notebook, faded at the edges and clipped shut by the small flap on the side. Beneath it is a folder thick with numerous papers.  
  
[](http://tinypic.com?ref=117skur)  
  
With careful hands, you remove the notebook and gently take out the folder, moving to place them both on the desk for everyone to see. Jade opens the folder.  
  
They’re files. Lots of them.  
  
John moves to look through them, sifting through name after name. A few catch your eye. Dolly Maryam. Roxy Lalonde. Latula Pyrope. Dirk Strider. Mituna Captor.  
  
Lalonde? Why does that sound familiar? And Strider, too. You feel like you’ve heard them somewhere before. The air beside you grows a little colder at the mention of these names, and you think Dirk might be looking over your shoulder to see. They’re the missing files, you wonder if all of them are here. It’s made the folder fat with paper, and it gives you a general idea of just how many people suffered under her hand.  
  
John replaces the files as you pick up the notebook. The leather is worn and delicate in places, so you make extra sure to be gentle when you unclip the flap and open the cover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it :0


	55. Royal Affairs Part 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so late with this hhhh  
> School has absolutely swamped me with work I'm sorry  
> It's 3 in the morning I just finished and I am very tired

Spring has been rainy and chilled as of yet, with a bluster that tousles your hair freely and blossoms that dot the trees in dainty whites. Birdsong lights the air in happy trills when the sun shines down, and with it the Prince talks of the annual visit to the city on the outskirts of the kingdom. He seems to be eagerly anticipating it, as is Princess Jadeyn, who mentions people named John and Jane. You've heard them mentioned before, though rarely, and always in accompaniment to the topic of Derse.  
  
It will take two days to arrive there, and you ponder if the roads will be alright to use with all the rain that's drenched the land over the weeks. It probably won't be much of an issue, you think.  
  
After the small bit of planning - they don't really need to go over the exact same things every single year - the Prince and Princess set out on the journey chaperoned by a modest group of knights and servants. Princess Jadeyn, her servant, and Lady Latula claim the first carriage pulled by two gorgeous horses while you and Prince Jacob take the next. The head knight was supposed to sit with the Prince as well, but he insisted on riding horseback to better protect against thieves. You think he might be a little paranoid, but then you remember that one of his best knights is riding with the Princess and you suppose you can't blame him all that much.  
  
The carriage ride is bumpy, the rolling wheels skipping over rocks and ruts periodically. You've never ridden in a carriage before and it's a little exciting, but you would never admit as much. The Prince is rather used to riding in them and probably doesn't share your wonder, he's brought a book to read along the way. You, on the other hand, reach to move the small curtains from the window an inch or so, just to glimpse the city passing you by. Vendors and performers litter the sides of the streets, watching as the procession passes. Some smile and greet the knights on horseback, others simply return to their stalls and focus on their businesses. You are borderline mystified by what they sell; metalwork jewelry, sturdy shoes, hand-bound books with lovely covers. You'd really like to look at everything up close, but you know you can't.  
  
What draws your gaze the most, however, is the blacksmith's shop you pass by. A muscular woman stands beside a small display of swords that catch the sky's white gleam with an admirable shine, each one without a doubt a superior work of art. You still have an unrealistic dream of owning your own sword one day, and the ones she's made are absolutely beautiful. She sees you in the window of the carriage admiring her display and gives you a warm, welcoming smile, like she's trying to coax you out from behind the curtains. Prince Jacob notices your rapt gaze and nudges aside the curtains himself, observing the passing weaponry shop. His movement jars you slightly - you'd become used to him only quietly flipping pages and tilting his head to read. You wonder what made him look up, he seemed so absorbed in his book up to now. He gleans over the shop, skylight tumbling through the window and illuminating one dazzling emerald eye, leaving the other in the shadows.  
  
Swords, eh? He asks absently, though you can detect a bit of amusement in his voice.  
  
Everything, you respond, voice quiet and honest. He glances up at you, parts of your face showing with the glowing light streaming inside.  
  
You've not often left the palace, have you?  
  
It's more of a statement than a question, a remark waiting to be confirmed. You nod your head. What would a servant do outside of the palace? Besides, you'd need to ask permission first and receive a pass that would permit you back inside, which seems like a lot of trouble to you. You'd prefer to simply get your work done.  
  
His hand lays relaxed against the pages of his book as a small half-smile graces his face.  
A responsible one, aren't you?  
  
You fidget and shrug noncommittally. Responsible might not be the best word for you; one time you and your brother hopped atop serving carts and surfed down the hallways, occasionally you and Rose sneak off to the bell towers with armfuls of books to read the day away, and sometimes you accompany Roxy to the dungeons to sneak food to the prisoners since they're scarcely fed in the first place. You don't tell the Prince this, of course, and he returns to his book quietly. You direct your gaze out the window again, and the sky is beginning to bleed with heavy clouds.  
  
It doesn't take much longer for rain to drizzle over the earth, trickling down the windows in sparkling gray streams. The roads do indeed suffer, growing soft and unfit for travel by the time you reach the third town over. The head knight suggests stopping for the day to prevent the wheels of the carriages from becoming stuck in the mud, and no one argues against him. You are glad to exit the carriage and stretch your restless legs, helping servants lead horses to the stables beside an inn. Prince Jacob says he'll meet you inside as you take the reins of a nervous coal-black mare, and you nod in response and bow as he leaves to escape the pattering rain.  
  
The horse you lead tosses her head, fidgeting anxiously as you guide her toward the stables under the watchful eyes of the head knight. You shush the mare, gently placing a hand on her face. She snorts and looks to you, your reflection showing in her dark eyes. You take this is her calming down a bit, and begin walking her again. Sweet rain continues to fall, speckling your shoulders and hair in cold droplets. The sprinkling gradually grows heavier each second you spend coaxing the mare to the stables, a job that only becomes more difficult when thunder growls through the clouds. She stomps and jerks, stepping backwards a few inches with an unhappy whiney.  
  
You tighten your hold on the reins and move to stroke her neck, hoping to ease her nerves somewhat. She blinks and jitters, on edge, but allows you to lead her forward. Your shirt is sticking to you, heavy with cool water as the showers persist. Rain drips down your face in fluid streams, coming to slip from the point of your chin to the colorless fabric of your clothes.  
  
Easy, you murmur to her when she tosses again at the thunder. Easy, girl.  
  
By some stroke of luck you manage to lead her inside the stables, guiding her to a stall to stay. The heat from your body warms your drenched clothes, but fails to retain it. You pay it no mind as you care for the unsettled mare, making sure to be extra gentle when brushing her down. You confirm that she has enough food and give her a few more pats, a thank you for not being as much of a hassle as she could have been. She whinnies as you leave and walk back out into the rain, a shiver racking down your spine at the feeling of cold anew. You walk hurriedly to the inn, pushing open the door and stepping inside.  
  
Within, wooden furniture and lamps flickering with flames cast a warmth about the room, a fireplace blazing on the far right wall before an arrangement of overstuffed chairs and couches. Princess Jadeyn is talking animatedly with Lady Latula as they sit together, a servant standing off to the side. At the sound of the door opening, Latula glances up and frowns at your dripping clothes, tucking a lock of striking red hair behind her ear. The Princess follows the line of her steel green eyes and purses her lips at the sight of you. You are immediately flustered under the gaze of so many high-standing people and avert your eyes, trying to see if the Prince is around somewhere.  
  
Lady Latula calls out to you, waving you over. She tells you that Jake is tending to a few things, and that he’ll be back in a bit. In the meantime, come over by the fire!  
  
By the fire? With her and the Princess? You look over them both, Latula is definitely talking to you specifically and Princess Jadeyn in smiling cheerfully. Hesitantly, you approach, stopping just before the setup of seats to ask if you can fetch them anything. You aren’t sure why they would ask you to, though, since there are servants around them already.  
  
Yes, says Lady Latula. You can sit here, you’re soaked! She gestures to the spot beside her on the couch.  
  
You’ll get it wet though, you reason, but she waves off your statement and pats the seat. Overruled, you sit beside her, hands folded in your lap. She grins at you before returning her attention to the Princess and resuming their conversation. They are discussing and exchanging riddles. An interesting topic, and you listen in as the heat of the fireplace washes over you tenderly. How cleverly they spin their words.  
  
I am tall when I am young and short when I am old. What am I? Is the Princess’s riddle. Latula hums as she thinks, crossing her arms and tapping her foot. You notice Princess Jade smile as she keeps her gaze leveled toward the table, where a few candles drip with wax. The riddle is not hard to figure out after that, and you inwardly smirk to yourself. Latula sees the revelation glisten in your eyes.  
  
You know the answer, don’t you? She inquires, eyes narrowed playfully. You merely shrug, and the Princess gives you a knowing look. She twirls her dark hair about her finger, staring pointedly at the table. It doesn’t take much longer for Latula to take the hint, for her sight rests upon the table as well. She snaps her fingers and announces the solution: A candle.  
  
The princess nods happily and confirms her answer is correct. Your turn, she tells Lady Latula.  
  
What is set on a table, cut, but never eaten? Asks Latula, eyes glimmering in the light. The princess settles back in her plush chair and presses a finger to her chin pensively. You ruminate on the matter as well, absently toying with your hands in thought. Princess Jadeyn uncrosses and recrosses her legs, the skirt of her dress shifting with the motions. She hums, and Lady Latula drums her fingers against the couch in anticipation for her answer.  
  
A few minutes pass like this, and neither of you manage to find a solution. Latula asks if the Princess gives up, but she shakes her head no, she wants more time. Your hair begins to slip before your eyes, and you raise a hand to run through your damp flaxen locks, pushing it away from your face. It’s at this time that you hear the Prince’s voice, there you are, Dirk, I was just wondering where you were!  
  
With fingers still tangled in your hair and lips slightly parted in mild surprise, you look up at the face of the Prince, standing just beside the couch with a hand poised on the armrest. He blinks at you, sizing up your appearance as you stand.  
  
You’re drenched, he observes. Let’s get you out of those clothes, shall we? The suggestion is innocent enough, and you nod. He turns, leading you across the room and up a set of subtly crooked stairs.  
  
Your Highness, you mumble, hands coming up to rub at your elbows. These are the only clothes I have.  
  
In all honesty, you have two sets of clothes, but the other ones are for special occasions so you don’t completely look like trash and you’ve left those at the palace since you doubt anything of importance will come up.  
  
He tells you not to worry, he had figured as much, it’s not a problem. He gives you a smile then, tossed over his shoulder in reassurance. You furrow your brows as you reach the top of the stairs and follow him down a hall, the chill of the air raising goosebumps up and down your arms. He comes to a stop before a door and twists the knob, pushing it open and waving you inside after him. Within, bags are set beside a wardrobe and a bed draped in crisp linens sits invitingly against the wall. The Prince’s room, you infer. A window on the far side has been fogged up, and even if it were clear you doubt you’d be able to see too far out of it. The rain pelts the glass, a stippling pattern in your ears.  
  
Prince Jacob moves to the bags beside the wardrobe, digging through them for a few moments before pulling out a set of clothes. His clothes.  
  
Your Highness, you begin. I couldn’t.  
  
Jake, he corrects you. It’s fine, and I don’t want you catching a cold. The Prince holds out the clothes to you. You bite at the inside of your cheek. Tentatively take them with a nod. Who are you to decline the Prince’s generosity?  
  
He turns around and lets you peel away your soggy garments in private, and you are sure to be quick since there is something so vulnerable about being unclothed in the presence of another. Once you’ve donned the significantly drier clothes that smell a bit of pumpkins – it’s what Prince Jacob smells like, you notice – you announce that you’re finished. He turns back around to find you wearing a pure white shirt with pleated sleeves, the material airy and light and soft. The trousers hang a bit loosely from your hips but you doubt they’re in danger of falling. He nods in approval. Says he thinks they suit you nicely. You fiddle with the ends of the sleeves at your wrists and thank him. He assures you it’s not a problem as you collect your wet clothes, planning to wring them out and string them up somewhere to dry. The Prince says you can return them at your leisure, but you pledge to yourself to return them as soon as possible. You wouldn’t feel right keeping something of his any longer than needed.  
  
He leads you out of his room, and you leave his side for a moment to find where the servants’ room is. There, you squeeze as much water from your garments into a bucket as you can and toss them over a small table, straightening the folds so they’ll dry quicker. Afterwards, you leave to help serve dinner.  
  
Other servants give you glances and stares, regarding your clothes in question more than envy. If they didn’t already recognize you, they may have mistaken you as a nobleman, though this thought never once crosses your mind as you carry plates about.  
  
Once dinner is over and you take care of the rest of your duties, you retire to sleep. All throughout the night, the scent of the Prince curls about you like a blanket, spices and pumpkins and tea. You curl up a little tighter.  
  
The morning after, your clothes are mostly dry, and you slip out of the Prince’s garb and into something much more familiar. You make quick work of returning them, and he replaces them in his bags. Outside, the sun climbs into the sky as if the rain yesterday had never happened, shining warmly against the vast azure. The ground is beginning to dry, patches still darkened with rain here and there. It should be fine to travel again in a few hours, and after you’ve helped load the carriages and saddled a few horses the group is ready to go. You find the black mare from yesterday and pat her in a hello, and she snorts in what you guess is recognition. She’s much calmer now, it seems. You’re glad, otherwise it may have delayed the journey a bit.  
  
The ride to the city goes according to plan, no interruptions or further setbacks to be seen, and there they pull up to a large manor in the far west, the trees whispering in the slight breeze. The Prince and Princess are met enthusiastically by a pair of what surely must be siblings, both with stark black hair and bright blue eyes.  
  
Princess Jadeyn greets them as John and Jane, who comment that the group has arrived a little late this year.  
  
Bit of a storm, explains the Prince. He informs them that he’ll just tack on another day here, so there’s no rush.  
  
Perfect, Jane smiles. They have so much to show them! They’ll discuss matters over lunch, then?  
  
The princess says that that sounds like a fantastic idea, and they follow them into the sprawling manor, a few servants trailing behind. Within, the casual drum of feet patter against the floor as you walk, and after a short time your group of servants are directed towards the kitchen with a few others to help prepare lunch. You are tasked with the ever exciting chore of dicing fruit. The juice stains your hands lightly as you pour what you’ve chopped into bowls before dusting each with a modest amount of sugar.  
  
It’s a bit difficult to establish a rhythm here, since there are other servants with their own jobs and unfamiliar halls with stairs you don’t know, but you’ve memorized the layout of the palace which is so much larger! Granted, it’s taken you your whole life, but you think you’ll be fine with the few days you have.  
  
Once you rinse your hands clean, you assist in carrying food to the dining room, where John and Jane have rolls of paper littering the table, all of them covered in detailed drawings and a scrawl you don’t take much time to read. What you do pick up, however, is that they’re the chief excavators of the Dersite ruins, along with someone named Aradia who is still exploring at the moment. They pour over the papers together, John and Jane eager to share what they’ve learned and gathered since the last time the Prince and Princess came to check up on their progress. They make plans later on to go and see the ruins themselves. Apparently they’ve unearthed a whole other chamber, and they’re positively giddy with excitement to show them. The Prince asks you to accompany him there when they go, and you nod. You look forward to it, as you’ve never actually seen Derse ruins before. It should be neat.  
  
Another short ride in a carriage as the sun winks overhead brings you to a slightly dusty landscape, the crumbling obsidian walls of what seems to be the Derse palace looming above you, a remarkably commanding sight despite being so weathered and broken. People bustle about, toting around books and supplies to further their studies and excavations. Crawling up the walls in thick vines flutter the closed blooms of what you believe are moonflowers. Their petals twist tightly shut in the daylight, still beautiful in how they twirl. The head knight, who has also accompanied the group, seems particularly interested by them. You don’t blame him, they are indeed quite pretty. In a book somewhere, you believe you’ve read that the people of Derse drew inspiration from the curl of the moonflower and modeled bits of its architecture after it. Unfortunately, much of the empire itself was disassembled after it fell for need of materials, as well as neighboring countries envious of the abundant beauty. You are pretty sure Prospit has a few buildings taken from here, though that was quite a long time ago. Thankfully, the palace was left mostly untouched.  
  
Jane gestures for everyone to follow, and John walks beside her in the lead. The duo leads you all within, where structures to prevent the ceiling from collapsing stretch high above in sturdy beams. People are quick to move out of the way as the Prince and Princess pass, inclining their heads in respect. Your gaze flits back and forth, trying to take in everything you can as the group continues on, obviously having seen it all before. You wish you could take your time and become acquainted with the land where your blood lies, but Jane moves swiftly and you must keep up. Still, you feel a light excitement warm your chest, and you are quite content just to be here. Pillars rise to the ceiling on either side of a grand staircase that melts outwards as it sweeps toward the bottom, and you are pleased to see how the pillars twist like that of a moonflowers bud.  
  
The Prince looks over to you as you admire your surroundings, and you fail to notice as your eyes are elsewhere. His lips quirk into a half-smile before directing his gaze back to where he’s being led. Jane takes the group through a corridor and turns to press a hand against part of the wall.  
  
Derse was famous for its hidden passageways, explains Jane. This one was found on accident just a few months ago. With a bit of effort, she pushes the panel back, and John helps her open it the rest of the way. Tumbling downwards is a set of dusty stairs engulfed in darkness. Someone has brought along a couple torches, handing them to Jane and John so that they may continue to guide the group. The light of the fire illuminates the flickering shadows as you enter, figures showing black in the dark but you can find your way without a problem. You tread carefully, cautious of steps that may be brittle as the group descends. Near the bottom, another light glows into view.  
  
Aradia, calls Jane. A cheerful hello is sent back. Once your feet meet flat ground, the person named Aradia, a woman with a head full of dark curls, greets the Prince and Princess like old friends. They seem just as happy to see her, all bright smiles as they continue down the way.  
  
The walls are of stone, rough and packed tightly together. You let your hand trace over it as you walk, feeling the bumps and grooves beneath your fingertips. It hardly takes much time for the hall to bloom into a circular chamber, the ceiling above like a dome. Statues fill the room, beautifully chiseled masterpieces and paintings of unparalleled skill lean against the walls. In the very center, easily the largest work in the room, a marble falcon sits regally with its wings outstretched, each feather so naturally splayed and detailed.  
  
This room is so unbelievably fantastic, Aradia gushes. A plethora of original works of art to shine light upon the past. People work diligently here and there, gently brushing away years of dust from the artwork. It must have been some kind of stowaway to keep everything safe.  
  
Farther in, a call of triumph draws everyone’s attention.  
  
Aradia, says a person hunched over a chest. I’ve unlocked it! Seconds later, everyone crowds around as the person sets their lock-picking tools aside and slowly lifts the lid. Glistening jewels catch the light of the fire, and gold shimmers in coins pressed with inscriptions. Old Derse currency, you believe. This trip really is neat.  
  
After giving the contents a good once-over, Aradia thanks the person for getting it open. Seven locks on one chest, that must have been tough!  
  
Throughout the visit, you keep near the Prince. He, in turn, keeps near Jane as she tells him about the art they’ve managed to decipher. She shows him around, from a large painting featuring a breath-taking landscape to a deep purple banner embroidered with a crescent moon and an ‘S’. There are vases the size of your torso with glossy finishes and jaw-droppingly intricate carvings of people stuck in time. It’s here that you can pause and look over everything in wonder, a feeling of pride shining in your chest. This is what your ancestors got up to, and it’s amazing.  
  
You take the time to admire the falcon perched in the center, piercing eyes and glorious feathers that look so real and soft, like it’s merely awaiting the right moment to breathe itself to life and swoop away. The head knight is impressed by it as well, and you take a moment to acknowledge that he is of Derse descent as well. You can imagine that he feels the same as you do about this. Prince Jacob approaches you from the side, looking up at the sculpture.  
  
Extraordinary, isn’t it? He asks, a bit of a far-off look in his eyes. You nod in agreement, feeling light.  
  
Sadly, the group is taken back up to the surface after a bit of looking around. John says something about inhaling all the dust and how it’s kind of super bad for you. You guess that makes sense, but you still feel a little sad as you leave the room. The sun is beginning to dip, you can see it through the glassless windows, tossing the sky in muted oranges.  
  
Dirk? Asks the Prince as you walk with him through the halls. Would you like to stay and see the moonflowers bloom? You feel your brows raise slightly in surprise at his question. By the tone of his voice, you are pretty sure he has only you in mind.  
  
It would be a lie to say you wouldn’t like to. He doesn’t look like he’d mind staying, either, and the expression in his summer eyes is knowing. You ask if it would trouble him, but he simply shakes his head. There is plenty of time for it, he assures. You nod, and a smile brightens his face.  
  
With the moon peaking over the trees, he leads you outside and breaks away from the small group. He tells the Princess he’ll meet up with her later as he walks about the palace walls.  
  
Your Highness, you ask. Where are we going? You would have been completely content to view them from the front of the palace.  
  
Jake, he reminds you. And I’d like to show you something. You tilt your head in curiosity, the sound of your feet brushing over the ground soft in your ears. He leads you around the corner and down the length of the walls until you reach a clearing that leads into an overgrown garden. Plants push outwards, narrowing the path and sneaking over rocks in fragile leaves. You follow him to where a bench crafted in white stone sits encircled by the same twirling pillars you saw earlier. Curling up the sides are seemingly endless moonflower vines, the buds beginning to loosen and peak open.  
  
You sit with him as the moon climbs higher and the flowers slowly peel open into magnificent trumpeting blooms that seem to glow in the scarce light. All around you, blossoms gradually swirl open, each one at least half the size of your hand. The cool breeze blows through, gently swaying the flowers in a mesmerizing dance that you could watch for hours.

  
  
What do you think? Asks the Prince, looking to you expectantly. You meet his gaze, the moonlight bright in your eyes, and you tell him it’s beautiful here. Thank him for showing you. He says he’s glad he could. A warmth grows in your heart, spreading to tingle at the tips of your fingers.  
  
You look back to the flowers, their sweet fragrance carried to you on the wind, petals like silk. Silently, you take a deep breath. You hope you can come back here sometime.  
  
When the two of you return, you catch a glimpse of the head knight with a few moonflowers clutched in his hand. On the carriage ride back, you watch the shambled palace as it leaves your sight, disappearing behind trees and shadows. You look to the Prince, who gives you a charming smile. You give him one back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh if i didn't have better self control the black mare's name would be Snart


	56. World Tree (Chase)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. I'm late. I'm sorry. 
> 
> In other news, Egbert_Strider_Vantas made [fanart](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4662987/chapters/11344717) for this AU! Thank you again!

"Dirk, please go back to bed."  
  
"I can't."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Gotta walk it off."  
  
"You can't walk off a stab wound, bean."  
  
"Fuckin' watch me."  
  
You sigh as Dirk paces back and forth in your living room, his arms clutched close around the bandages on his abdomen, back slightly hunched in pain. You had helped him get up earlier to go to the bathroom and now he won't sit back down. He seems a mighty bit peeved that the wound isn't healing like usual and is apparently dead set on denying that it hurts as bad as it really does. You would admire his pain tolerance if he wasn't being such a dumbass right now.  
  
Dave, who you've let wander about atop a soft pile of blankets, pauses to watch his brother curiously. Your eyes follow him as he walks, arms crossed as you sit back against the couch.  
  
Dirk, you say again. Stop being stupid. He grumbles at that and continues to ignore your requests. A couple hours ago, you had changed the bandages around the wound, only to find it in the same state as yesterday. It hadn’t healed at all, and Dirk appears to be taking it as a personal offense.  
  
Is this what being human feels like? Because it fucking sucks, he had said through a frown. You told him you aren’t usually nursing a stab wound, but on the rare and unfortunate occasion you are, this is probably what it feels like.  
  
Since there’s been no change in his condition, you’ve strongly advised against him venturing out to the World Tree and finding Calliope. He apparently values your advice at least somewhat because he’s still here, though not enough to just sit down, good gravy.  
  
Dave makes a noise, grabbing your and Dirk’s attention. The baby gurgles a little, ruby eyes fixed on his older brother. Dirk makes his way over to pick him up, but when he bends down a wave of pain surges through him. A muffled grunt escapes his lips and he opts to instead sit beside Dave, who scoots closer to try and climb over his legs. With a sigh of his own, Dirk rubs at his eyes beneath his shades. You bet he feels pretty useless right about now, he can’t even pick up his baby brother. He’s probably never been hurt like this before, and you feel right sorry for him. That doesn’t change the fact that he’s being asinine though, but you’re glad he’s finally sitting down again. It only took a swift kick in the ass.  
  
You tell him he should just focus energy on getting better instead of trying to outdo a stab wound as you move to join him on the blanket. He remains silent, and you suppose his pride has been hurt along with his abdomen. Dave places a small hand beside the bandages on his stomach, and you can see the shadows beneath his little palm begin to glow brightly orange. Dirk gives him a look.  
  
Either he’s trying to make me feel better, or set me on fire, Dirk mutters to you. On one hand, Dave could just be doing his best, but on the other hand he could be being an asshole. Dirk holds out an index finger and sets the tip aflame, poking at Dave’s cheek, who bubbles in happy giggles. When you look up at him you can see his brows furrow slightly over his shades. You ask him what’s wrong. There’s a bit of a pause as he takes in a breath and releases it, like he’s debating whether or not to tell you.  
  
I’m worried, he confides. He doesn’t know if he’ll be good enough.  
  
Good enough to raise him? You tilt your head a bit. Dirk chews at the inside of his cheek.  
  
To make sure he stays alive. He couldn’t do it before, can he do it now?  
  
You are silent for a moment as you look at Dave, whose eyes are bright and wide and innocent. You find it hard to imagine that anyone would ever want to hurt him for anything.  
  
It will be okay, you assure him quietly. He says he hopes so. Losing the last part of his family would likely devastate him. You know you would be absolutely broken if yours died, you’ve always been so close to them.  
  
The sound of a text alert going off interrupts your train of thought. Dirk reaches into his pocket and pulls his phone out, the screen alight with an incoming message from someone named ‘ಠ_ಠ’. After unlocking his phone, he reads over the message that says ‘yooo dirk how u feelin’ in pink letters.

TT: Same as yesterday.  
TT: Any news from Calliope?  
TG: nup  
TG: ill let u know tho  
TT: Thanks.  
  
Roxy had messaged him when he first came to your apartment two days ago, but he was unconscious at the time and couldn’t read and respond to them, plus his settings were on silent. When he had actually thought to check his phone, he was met with an overwhelming amount of texts and missed calls that slowly became more worried with every message. They went from ‘so since u popped outta there p quick imma assume youre more or less okay??’ ‘unless u arent’ ‘dirk u elusive s.o.b. answer ur fuckn phone’ but with a much more gradual shift.  
  
When he had finally replied, you could feel her relief yourself, but then Dirk told her he had been at your apartment the whole time and Roxy turned to berate you through text message. You had apologized profusely for not telling her straightaway, and you guess she more or less forgave you once she had the chance to call you a ‘peen-fiend’, among other variations which were admittedly a little humorous but you hadn’t the heart to screencap them for the serious undertones. You’ll just be sure to remember the insult ‘peena colada’ for later reflection.  
  
At the moment, though, you’re rather focused on Dirk, who seems quite concerned with the well-being of Calliope. You’ve met the gal only once before and she seemed like quite the friendly person, so you can understand his apprehension, however she is also an apparently powerful basilisk with the means of fending for herself. Dirk knows this, but it seems he still can’t keep from letting those pesky ‘what ifs’ into his mind.  
  
He runs a hand through his hair, murmuring that he really needs to find out if she’s alright. She went to the World Tree on his behalf so that he could continue to take care of Dave, and if something actually _has_ happened to her, it would ultimately be his fault since he had asked her to.  
  
I’ve got to find her, he says resolutely. You remind him of his injury. He should be resting until it’s healed.  
  
He doesn’t even know if it _is_ healing or not, and injury or no he still needs to make sure she’s okay. Caliborn could have gotten to her, couldn’t he have? He needs the sap of the World Tree and he knows she’s against him making his immortality potion on the fact that he has to kill so much to achieve his goal. Would it be too much to think he’s decided to kill two birds with one stone upon going there?  
  
You suppose he makes a good point and therefore has a decent reason to be concerned, but you like to have a little more faith in people than that. She seems like a capable person with a considerable amount of power at her disposal. She would likely make a formidable adversary in battle, taking into account she is literally a giant snake. And would the spirit of the World Tree permit such a battle on their grounds? To be quite honest, you are unsure of the answer to that question yourself.  
  
While the both of you make valid arguments, Dirk is still set on going despite the risks. You tell him you still don’t think it’s a good idea. He reasons that it wouldn’t hurt to make sure, it won’t even take that long probably. Just a quick stop by to see, that’s all. It’d be harmless.  
  
You sigh, brows furrowed as you look away. A feeling of dread settles within your stomach at the idea, and you tell him that if he won’t change his mind, then you’re coming with him. Dirk frowns. The outlines of his eyes are barely visible.  
  
What about Dave? He asks, looking down to his little brother, who has been leaving little hand-shaped black scorch marks on every part of the medical tape he can reach.  
  
He could ask Roxy to take care of him, you suggest, but he shakes his head. Caliborn probably has eyes on her place too. He knows they’re close friends now and that he’d go to her for help. Since he hasn’t ever come to your apartment by any means other than apparition, Caliborn likely has no idea where you live. It’s safest here.  
  
You exhale through your nose, eyebrows scrunched as you chew at the flesh of your bottom lip. An alternative has to be hidden somewhere.  
  
Jake, Dirk says quietly. Please stay here. I’ll come back fine.  
  
You look to Dave, who seems more preoccupied with directing tiny streams of fire at the bandages. On the verge of relenting, you open your mouth only to be hit with an idea.  
  
My cousins! You exclaim, snapping your fingers. John seemed to like taking care of Dave, and you don’t think he would mind watching him for what Dirk is saying will be a quick excursion. Also, John and Jane have even less a chance of being suspected by Caliborn, so their house is arguably safer than your apartment.  
  
Dirk seems surprised at your suggestion, but you can tell he’s thinking it over by the way his eyes glance away for a moment. You feel your proposition needs a little more backbone to it.  
  
John and Jane took care of Dave when you were monitoring his condition a couple days ago. They’ve always been trustworthy and you’re positive they would make sure Dave is kept safe. Also, Jane is friends with Roxy, so there isn’t any demonic prejudice going on there. Dirk pinches his lips together.  
  
He confesses he would feel better if you stayed here, he can’t foresee what may or may not happen. You point out that if that’s the case, he’s obviously unsure if things will truly be alright like he’s been trying to convince you. You don’t appreciate his dishonesty. He looks away at that, his throat moves as he swallows.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I just. I care about you. And I would hate to see you hurt.”  
  
Your expression softens as he speaks, and you place your hand over his.  
  
“Don’t you know I feel the same for you?” You ask gently. Already, he’s been hurt. He _worries_ you. He’s admittedly a smidgeon reckless and you fear leaving him to go it alone may spell his end. Dirk looks back to you for a moment before gesturing to the bandages burned around the sides. Getting stabbed hadn’t killed him, he reasons. You quirk a brow, unimpressed. It certainly hasn’t made him stronger, you shoot back. He shrugs, not meeting your eyes.  
  
Dirk, you say, squeezing his hand a bit to get him to look back at you. Your words are firm. If you’re going, I’m going as well.  
  
He sees the determination swirling green behind your glasses. He must know you’re not going to change your mind if he’s not going to change his, and he gives a small nod. Satisfied, you let go of his hand and get to your feet, heading for your phone.  
  
Thirty minutes later, John arrives at your apartment. He’s wearing the shoe wings, or shwings you got him for his birthday proudly. They’re a little silly– you mean they are the epitome of cool and absolutely any outfit would be utterly incomplete without them.  
  
You pick up the obsidian rock Roxy had given you, the charm of anonymity made with her concoction of dark liquids, and tell John to keep it tucked in his pocket until you return. You can never be too cautious, and if anything it would make both you and Dirk feel a little better. Demons won’t be able to detect him if he keeps it on his person.  
  
After Dirk tells Dave to be good and not set anything on fire, a request that likely goes unheard by his brother, John lifts the baby into his arms.  
  
When do you think you’ll be back? Asks John, blue eyes blinking. You don’t have the answer for that, but you tell him you’ll keep him posted. He seems fine with that response, and soon leaves with Dave cradled against his chest.  
  
Dirk stands with some effort, his expression pained, and you offer a hand to help him up.  
  
Are we leaving now? You inquire. His brows twitch at the word ‘we’.  
  
Won’t get anything done staying here, he says. I’d prefer to go with a shirt, though.  
  
Taking the hint, you nod and retreat into your room. The shirt he was wearing when he came to your apartment was ruined with a hole and copious amounts of blood, so you shuffle through your dresser for something that would fit him. As you pull a baggy black shirt from the back of the drawer, you hear a strange and distinctive whooshing sound that has a cold numbness creeping through your chest.  
  
Dirk? You call out, striding quickly back to the living room.  
  
He is nowhere to be seen.  
  
The shirt in your hands bunches up with your fists, knuckles pronounced. A painful, shocked heat makes itself known along your sternum. He left without you. He tricked you. He lied to you. Are you not worth his honesty? After all this time? _Still_?  
  
You clench your teeth, shoulders near trembling in anger and indignation. You are absolutely appalled. The shirt balled in your hands finds itself thrown roughly against the couch, and you reach one hand up to pinch at the bridge of your nose, the other arm crossed over your chest. In a sharp exhale, brows corrugated and eyes closed tight, you try to find another option. You’re too upset to think rationally. What should you do? You have absolutely no clue where the World Tree could possibly be, and the time it could take to locate it might be months. Do the encyclopedias you own have anything on it? A walk over and a quick check tells you yes, but no information on how to find it. You snap it shut and replace it on the shelf.  
  
What are you going to do? What if he gets hurt? What if you can’t help him? Distress has you raking your fingers through your hair, pacing back and forth.  
  
Why is he so _stupid_? You ask yourself, a hotness swimming behind your eyes. Doesn’t he know you care for him too? Does he think you can’t fend for yourself? That you’ll get in the way? Are you a nuisance?  
  
The more sensible side of yourself gripes at you to calm down, tells you that you know exactly why he went without you. At the moment, however, all you can think about is how terrible you feel. You can’t believe you fell for his trick, it was so obvious, you had _seen_ how his brows twitched when you said ‘we’. Angry at Dirk and at yourself, you slump down onto the couch, elbows propped on your knees, head hanging in your hands.  
  
You’ll get nowhere by seething, you chastise. First, you need a plan. A course of action. You can’t just sit here and let him traipse about nursing a stab wound.  After you’ve done something, you can be upset. Inhaling deeply, you let out a slow breath. Your shoulders fall, you rub at your eyes beneath your glasses. But what should you do? What _can_ you do? A look around your living room yields no new ideas. An irritated groan leaves your throat as you stare at your lap. Off to the side, your phone sits glinting in the light streaming through the closed blinds in horizontal stripes. Wait…  
  
In a flash, you snatch up the device and scroll through it, searching your contacts list. You dial up a number and clear your throat, pressing the cellphone to your ear. It rings once, twice, and is cut off by being answered.  
  
“Sup?” Comes the voice on the other end, popping the ‘p’.  
  
“Roxy, hey,” You greet evenly. She wants to know if you need anything.  
  
Can you come over? You ask, a bit of urgency sneaking behind your words. This seems to catch her off guard.  
  
Is something wrong? She questions.  
  
A bit, you reply modestly. Roxy assures you she’ll be over in two seconds. You’re glad you can count on her.  
  
Moments later, she’s standing in your apartment, a frown curving her dark lips. What’s going on, she inquires.  
  
Dirk left to go to the World Tree, you inform. Immediately, she furrows her brows. He’s in absolutely no state to be undertaking such a task. Roxy reaches up a hand and tugs at her bangs in what you believe is frustration.  
  
Can you take me there to help make sure he comes back safe? You request, hoping to god she’ll see your side of the argument here. She purses her lips as if she’s unsure, rosy eyes averted.  
  
Please, Roxy. She looks back to you for a moment, sculpted brows still creased. You feel terrible for having to make her decide between Dirk’s judgement and your implorations, and you take a moment to apologize. However, you still want to go.  
  
Please, you ask again. She sighs deeply, arms crossed.  
  
Alright, she relents, not looking like she’s entirely on board with the idea. She’s blaming you if Dirk gets upset. You tell her that’s fine. You’re already upset with him anyway. You can deal.  
  
Once you’ve fetched your pistols and shoved a handful of ammo into your pocket, Roxy holds out a hand for you to take. Her nails are painted a matte black and filed into stiletto points. Once your skin touches hers, the uncomfortable feeling of what you could describe as the first drop of a roller coaster tugs at your stomach. It sends a wave of jitters through your body, sight going completely out for a moment. You can’t even see the black behind your eyelids. Before you know it, air is being forced away from where your solid form has just manifested, causing the whoosh sound that you know so well.  
  
Stumbling a bit on the uneven ground, you find your footing amongst a tangle of moss-covered roots. They’re thick, at least the size of your waist, and that’s just the bit that pokes up from the ground. Your eyes follow the winding roots, tangled together and protruding upwards as if the earth couldn’t possibly hold them all. Around you, leaves rustle in whispers and bright golden sunlight streams through the thick canopy overhead. Just before you, the land climbs upward in a gentle slope. It gives way to an enormously grand tree trunk that shoots skyward, one that dwarfs any other you’ve ever seen. The trunk rockets high before exploding into branches that stretch every which way, lushly decorated in emerald leaves and vines that hang like swings. A soft, cool wind hushes past your ears, carrying the scent of soil and sweet grass. For all the tree’s incredible size, it’s strangely peaceful here.

  
  
You glance around, trying to locate Dirk. The area, however, is huge and uneven, with roots arching out of the ground in curving structures all over. At the very edge of the clearing is a wall of other rather normal sized trees. Shade falls beyond them like delicate sheets caught in the wind, hiding the calls of singing birds. Roxy tucks a lock of blond hair behind her ear, looking about uneasily. She’s still unsure as to if she should have brought you here.  
  
Cautiously, you take a step forward, moving to climb atop an elevated set of roots. They’re fuzzy with springy moss, your shoes leaving small indents in the surface. From your vantage point, you scan the clearing again. You can’t seem to find him. Perhaps he’s on the other side of the tree? That looks like it would be a bloody long trek. Better get started.  
  
Hopping down, you gesture for Roxy to follow you as you begin stepping over the giant roots. She’s quicker to clear them than you are, largely for the fact that she can leap over them effortlessly. Your journey consists mostly of her waiting for you, at least until she grows bored of that and hefts your yelping ass over her shoulder. She’s able to maneuver over the roots much faster, your added weight hardly encumbering for all its flailing glory. In great bounds, she’s well on her way towards the other side of the massive tree. You cling onto her as tightly as you can, watching the ground rush up to meet you before bouncing away again. The experience has your insides turning unpleasantly, and you hope your glasses don’t fly off along the way.  
  
When she bends over to let you down your legs feel like jelly and your heart is thudding in your chest. You thank her for not dropping you.  
  
Another look around tells you Dirk is still nowhere in sight. Roxy chews at her lips before sniffing the air, pointing her nose high.  
  
I can’t smell him here, she relays, concern seeping into her voice. Roxy says that if he was injured badly enough, it might affect how well he can travel, especially over long distances like this. What if he was only able to make it part of the way? Then you’d have little to no chance of finding him at all. He could be anywhere!  
  
You really dislike the notion of that idea. Dirk likely knew this might happen as well, and it has you vexed beyond belief. How could he possibly think this was a good idea in any way?  
  
He just cares way too much, Roxy tells you passively. You know this already. It doesn’t change the fact that he’s made an awful choice.  
  
Roxy shrugs and nods, since you’re undeniably correct. She suggests that you and she head over to the tree and check if you can find out about Calliope.  
  
Calliope is inside there? You ask as you begin to make your way over. Roxy nods before offering to carry you again. You decline her proposition quickly. Swinging a leg over the next large root, you ask how she entered.  
  
The spirit must have sensed her presence and purpose, Roxy guesses. The thing just parted open for her. Roxy had escorted her to the tree a week prior, but she didn’t go inside. It sealed shut right after Callie.  
  
You hum in response, looking up at the branches that curl overhead. They sway to and fro in the breeze. It’s significantly warmer here than in the city, considering it’s the middle of April. Your black jacket grows hot, but you don’t bother taking it off. It’s a familiar weight on your shoulders, and it’s slightly oversized since it was originally Dirk’s.  
  
Every few minutes Roxy looks to the sky and sniffs, hoping to catch a whiff of Dirk’s strange citrus scent. She never does.  
  
At the base of the tree, its size is ever apparent. It could engulf an entire island. You suppose this is natural, since you’re pretty sure it’s the link between Earth, Heaven, and Hell. You’re certain it would need to be considerably vast to function as such. Either way, it’s impressive.  
  
Roxy cups her hands around her mouth and calls Calliope’s name loudly. Nothing happens.  
  
World Tree, she tries again. Nothing continues to happen.  
  
You slip your phone out of your pocket. The sign near the top informs you there’s no service here. That would probably explain why Calliope couldn’t send messages of her progress or that she was okay. If she’s okay. You hope everyone is safe.


End file.
